


Prior Claim

by Eressë (eresse21)



Series: The Sons of Elrond [11]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Community: fanfic100, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-02-22 01:15:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 53
Words: 93,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2489051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eresse21/pseuds/Eress%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of ficlets primarily recounting the evolution of Legolas and Elrohir's relationship from an unlikely friendship into a love for the ages. </p><p>Written for the fanfic100 challenge on LJ. Fandom: The Sons of Elrond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Acquaintance

**Author's Note:**

> _The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them._
> 
> I wrote this a while back for a round robin challenge wherein an adult Legolas meets the still young sons of Elrond. I was asked to start it off and this was the part I submitted. Even then I wanted to continue and complete the story as I saw fit. Then LJ's fanfic100 came along and inspired me to try and write a cohesive narrative despite each chapter being based on a prompt. It's a challenging experiment, but one I relish. As always, I hope this pleases.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One first leads to a host of other firsts for a certain prince of Greenwood.

**Prompt: Children**

_Lairë_ T.A. 167  
As soon as they crossed the Ford of the Bruinen, Legolas felt it. The power that protected the valley beyond. If he’d had any doubts as to whether they had followed the right trail, those doubts were now quelled. 

“Is it much further?” he asked the Wood-elven captain whose warriors formed his escort.

“Nay, sire,” the other Elf replied. “We shall reach Lord Elrond’s halls ere sunset.” 

Legolas nodded and urged his steed forward. He was eager to reach the heart of fabled Imladris. The last Noldorin stronghold in all Middle-earth and home of the legendary Peredhil whose present patriarch had served as herald to the last High-king of the Eldar in these Hither Lands.

He had heard much about Elrond Half-elven from his father and not always in the most flattering of terms. But that was not unexpected given the circumstances in the war against accursed Mordor that had cost the Silvan Elves of Greenwood the Great their king and a goodly number of their folk. It was his fortune that his grandsire and father had refused to risk their one and only heir in the battles in the south. Thus was he left regent of the woodland realm during the seven years siege of Mordor and most likely spared his grandfather’s fate. 

Still, Thranduil Oropherion had not gone so far as to completely cut ties with the other elven realms, mindful as he was of the need to buttress his people’s security with succor from their Eldarin brethren.

It was for this reason that Legolas now journeyed to Imladris. To pass the summer in the vale learning the mores of a folk unlike his own in so many ways. After all, the crown prince of the elven realm of northern Greenwood could not remain ignorant of what lay beyond the bounds of his forest home.

The sound of singing alerted him to the nearness of their destination. He looked about with interest as he espied the first buildings in the outlying districts of the valley realm. Here and there, dark-haired Elves peered curiously at the woodland party from windows and doors or from behind trees and tall brush. 

Before he could comment on the startling darkness of these strange Elves, he saw they had come to a great arched gate that welcomed them into a spacious stone-paved courtyard. In the background was a sprawling, many-storied building that belied its best-known name. For this was no house in Legolas’ opinion but a domicile befitting a great lord of Elves. He eyed the gathered Elves who awaited his party with much interest.

He swiftly separated Elrond from the rest though he had never laid eyes on him before. There was no mistaking that here was one in whose veins both elven and mortal blood flowed. It showed in his tall and slender yet patently solid frame, in his meatier limbs, lean though they were, and in his slightly mannish countenance that was unlike that of any pureblooded Elf.

Hardly had he adjusted to the uniqueness of the Half-elven lord when his interest was drawn elsewhere. At Elrond’s side stood an Elf-woman of surpassing loveliness. Silver-haired Celebrían his lady-wife, Legolas presumed. But it was the two young Elves at her side who most piqued his curiosity. Two young Elves of such astonishing similarity to each other that one would be forgiven for thinking one had begun to see double. 

Legolas blinked once, twice, in order to ascertain that he had indeed just gotten his first glimpse of a rarity. Elven twins.

In the time it took for his steed to cross the courtyard, the archer swiftly appraised the two who stood quietly by their parents. He did not know for certain whether the Peredhil’s physical growth was anything like that of _Edhil_ but, if it was, then Elrond’s sons were no more than twenty-eight years of age; that point between innocent childhood and unruly puberty.

They were tall for their age and already beginning to lose the roundness of face and form associated with children. And they were fair to behold, these sons of Elrond. Comely as the elusive twilight yet robust with a primal vigor that did not owe its origins to the Elves. He could see in them the ethereal beauty of their exquisite mother and the earthy allure of their handsome father. 

It was a striking combination and a potent one. Legolas could imagine what they would look like when they were full grown. Elves from all over Middle-earth would strive to gain one or the other’s favor, he concluded. He wondered if they were as blessed with their sire’s gifts of foresight and deep perceptiveness as well. 

His perusal of the twins was interrupted when he dismounted and presented himself to Elrond and his lady. But when he was introduced to the brethren, his fascination heightened further. For the twins seemed as different in personality as they were alike in appearance.

Elladan regarded him with the polite amiability and guarded curiosity of a diplomat. But Elrohir stared at him with near unnerving frankness, his grey eyes as appraising of him as his own veiled observation of the twins had been earlier. And while he smiled with his brother’s courteous civility, there was none of the practiced reserve of the older twin.

It occurred to Legolas that even now the brethren were already cognizant of their designated roles in their valley realm. Elladan was the heir apparent, the twin who might one day rule Imladris. Hence his somewhat detached demeanor. But Elrohir would be his chief counsellor no doubt and likely commander of Rivendell’s forces as well. He would be his brother’s shield and if that meant drawing attention and therefore the potential for harm to himself, then so be it. Thus his more open manner. 

But that still did not explain his intuitive affinity with the younger twin. If one were to consider it, he had more in common with the older twin who like himself was his father’s heir and therefore should feel more of a bond with Elladan. Yet this was not the case. 

It was Elrohir who snared his interest. And from the young Elf-knight’s intense regard, the same could be said of him.

“You should not stare at Legolas so, Elrohir,” Elladan mildly admonished his brother with a slight nudge to his side. “‘Tis impolite.”

“I am only returning the favor,” Elrohir calmly retorted. “Or did you not notice how he studied us ere we were introduced?”

“ _Gwenyn!_ ”—twins—Celebrían softly exclaimed. “‘Tis even more impolite to talk about someone as if he were not standing right in front of you.” She looked apologetically at the woodland prince though Legolas could have sworn he glimpsed a twinkle of humor in her eyes. “I beg pardon for my sons, Legolas. They meant no offense.”

Legolas smiled and shook his head. “And I took none,” he assured her. “Indeed, Elrohir only spoke the truth. I did stare at them far longer than would be deemed proper and for that I must beg pardon. I can only plead immense fascination for I have never beheld twins before and such astonishing likeness. I wondered how anyone could tell each from the other.”

“There are some differences between them,” Elrond said with a fond smile. “You will discover them if you look hard enough.” 

“But I think Legolas can already tell us apart,” one of the brethren stated. With a start, Legolas realized they had quietly shifted position to flank him while he spoke to their parents. “At least, you know who I am, don’t you,” the twin addressed Legolas with eerie certainty.

And with just as much certainty, Legolas knew he did though for the life of him, he did not comprehend how. “I— well, yea, I do,” he admitted. “You have a forthright tongue, Elrohir.”

The younger twin shrugged. “‘Tis the most efficient way to get answers,” he bluntly replied. “So long as concealment is not of the essence. And there is no need to hide the fact that you are not deceived by our likeness.”

Legolas gaped at him for an instant, stunned by such unchildlike sagacity. “Indeed I am not, but I haven’t the faintest notion why this is so,” he replied.

Elrond interjected a gentle opinion at this point, seeing that the archer needed some rescuing from his younger son’s rather disconcerting assertions.

“When kindred spirits meet, they oft recognize the other,” he said. “I would venture to guess that you see in Elrohir just such a connection and thus know him by it. But come, _ernil neth_.”—young prince. “You and your party are weary from your journey. Take your ease now.” 

He signaled to his steward to take care of the visitors.

Legolas smiled his thanks and began to follow the steward. But he felt a slender hand slip into his and he looked down into Elrohir’s dusky eyes. Elladan stood by his brother’s side.

“Your chamber is in our end of the west wing, between Elladan’s and mine,” the youth gravely informed him, all flippancy gone and proper decorum firmly in place. “We will take you there.” 

Wondering at the young Peredhel’s mercurial nature, Legolas nodded his acquiescence and allowed the twins to conduct him thence.

Celebrían watched them go then turned to her lord. “I pray our guest survives this visit. Elbereth only knows what our sons will demand of him,” she murmured.

Elrond sighed resignedly. “More to the point, let us hope Elrohir keeps his precociousness in check else Legolas may rue ever leaving his father’s halls!”

***************************  
Glossary:  
Lairë - Quenya for summer  
Edhil - Elves  
Peredhil (sing. Peredhel) – Half-elven/Half-elves  
Oropherion – son of Oropher


	2. Conjectures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When one twin attempts to plumb his brother’s feelings, he learns more than he bargained for.

**Prompt: Moon**

“You are enamored of him, aren’t you?” Silence met the query. “Elrohir?”

The younger twin did not turn from his contemplation of Ithil. He was seated on the balustrade of his bedchamber balcony, face raised in seeming adoration of the moon’s radiance. Yet in truth it seemed as if ‘twas he that Ithil worshipped. For so tenderly did he bathe the Elf-knight in silvery light that he looked more a divinity than a Peredhel of the line of the gallant Mariner. 

At length, Elrohir lowered his rapt gaze and looked at his brother who was seated on his bed.

“And if I am?” he said. 

“‘Tis not surprising,” Elladan replied. “He is more than passing fair. And a tried warrior and governor as well.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You have exceptional taste, brother.” When Elrohir only wanly smiled, he regarded him searchingly. “What troubles you?”

Elrohir sighed. “Best I not dwell on it,” he murmured. “It will come to naught.” At Elladan’s surprised stare, he added: “He will not want me following him about.”

Elladan frowned. “Since when have you been so lacking in confidence?” he demanded. “What is it about the Wood-elf that has overcome you?”

“The same thing that leaves you oft speechless when a certain much esteemed Elf smiles at you,” Elrohir archly replied. He grinned when his brother blushed deeply. “It seems we are of a piece, you and I, when it comes to such matters.”

“Speak for yourself,” Elladan retorted, his cheeks hot. “I will not hesitate when the time comes, I promise you.”

Elrohir chuckled. “I will hold you to that, _tôr iuar_ ”—older brother—he teased. “Mayhap I might learn enough to serve my own cause.”

The older twin looked at him thoughtfully. “Surely you do not doubt your charms,” he said. “Did you not mark how he eyed us earlier? He appreciated what he saw, Elrohir, and more so when you spoke to him so boldly. Why so diffident now?”

The Elf-knight studied the darkened landscape a space before replying. “I have realized I am no more than a mere sapling to him,” he said at last. “What interest could he possibly take in one as green as I? And one of his greater years and beauty would have his pick of Elves to warm his bed. He would not need or care to wait for a child to grow up. Provided he even thought that child worth his time.”

Elladan stared at him. Uncertainty shadowed his eyes. “You believe this of him yet, for all his years, in age or knowledge he is no match for—” The older twin looked quite crestfallen. “No wonder you think my aspirations so amusing.”

Elrohir’s eyes widened. “Nay!” he softly exclaimed with a shake of his head. “There is a difference. A great one.” At Elladan’s skeptical look, he said: “Legolas knows nothing about me. How can he even begin to consider more than a passing friendship with one he has only just met? But with you…” He gently smiled at Elladan. “If you only knew how he looks at you when he thinks no one sees.”

Elladan caught his breath. “How does he look at me?” he whispered.

“As one who is patiently biding his time.” Elrohir snorted when his twin gaped at him. “He knows us well, Elladan. He has known us since our swaddling days. ‘Tis probable he has deduced what we will be like when we are full-grown. But whether he has or not, I wager he has already decided which one of us is very much to his liking.”

Elladan considered this. “Strange that you should see what I cannot,” he murmured. “Yet if what you say is true, then…” He smiled so sweetly, Elrohir felt his own frustration diminish somewhat. “Mayhap ‘tis because you do not care for him as I do. In which case, it is very likely I will read Legolas’s heart more easily than you can.”

Before Elrohir could respond, someone knocked on the door. Elladan rose and went to see who it was. He blinked upon finding Legolas at the door. 

But he was no more surprised than the archer who frowned and said, “Forgive me, I thought this was Elrohir’s room.”

“It is his room,” Elladan confirmed, noting that Legolas had unerringly identified him. He nodded in the direction of the balcony.

Legolas followed his gaze and saw Elrohir just as the younger twin got to his feet, his expression quite priceless in Elladan’s opinion. 

Elladan fought the urge to snicker. The urge grew even stronger when he espied the gleam of pleasure in Legolas’s eyes. But who would not be pleased when presented with the wondrous picture his brother made, his whole being all-aglow in the moonlight? 

“I saw you from my window,” Legolas said. “I wondered if you would care to take a turn with me around the garden.” At Elrohir’s bemused reaction, he explained: “I always find it difficult to sleep the first night I am in a new place. A short walk oft helps me unwind.”

Elrohir quickly collected his wits. “I would be happy to accompany you. And if the walk does not suffice, a mug of hot milk with honey does wonders.”

Legolas smiled. “Ah, that brings back memories. ‘Twas my mother’s supreme remedy when I was a child and too restless to sleep.” He gestured to Elrohir to precede him. “Shall we?”

Elladan carefully covered a burgeoning grin with his hand. 

_Interesting that he sought you out, brother, when either of us would have served._

Elrohir spared his twin a sheepish glance, cheeks turning rosy as he passed him on the way out. 

Elladan’s grin widened. Leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded across his chest, he watched the two make their way down the hallway, already companionably conversing. 

Oh, this was going to be a most interesting summer, he decided.


	3. Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fledgling friendship upsets some long-held assumptions.

**Prompt: Green**

Elrohir never thought that something as intangible as a scent could enchant him. Yet he owned himself well and truly beguiled by the merest whiff of his companion. It was an aroma unlike any he had ever known. 

It was sweet and invigorating and—oh, he could not quite put his finger on the right word to describe how he felt. He only knew that partaking of Legolas’s scent was akin to taking a deep breath of fresh air. Of walking down verdant forest paths when the redolence of spring and awakening flora and foliage perfumed the breeze. He could make a habit of it if he was not careful. 

He glanced sideways at the archer. No, it would not do to become so accustomed to it that he would seek it even when Legolas had quitted the valley.

Since the woodland prince arrived a fortnight ago, they had taken strolls every day. Mostly in the evenings and in the gardens as they did now. But also on occasion in the early mornings ere they partook of breakfast, exploring the woods beyond the bridge or walking between the rows of laden trees in the orchard. 

Elladan oft teased him about this unexpected turn of events. 

He who had been so certain that he could be of no consequence to a centuries-older Elf now found himself said Elf’s favored companion. Yea, even above the wise and the warriors of the valley with whom Legolas duly kept company during much of the day. But in times of leisure, it was Elrohir he sought. Elrohir in whom he confided some of his less than heroic moments and laughed freely with when treated to the younger twin’s share of tales. 

What others made of their strange alliance, Elrohir did not bother to discover. It was enough that this so very comely being with whom he was infatuated deemed him better company than others closer to his age and wealth of experience. 

He felt the stroke of knuckles down his cheek and nearly shuddered from the heady sensations the touch set off. He looked at Legolas questioningly, wondering why the prince had caressed him. The Wood-elf was regarding him with similar wonder.

“Your skin is different,” he commented. “It is neither as fair as mine nor as dark as that of the Men I have chanced to see.”

Elrohir colored slightly but all he said was: “I am Half-elven.”

Legolas considered his answer thoughtfully. “Would that my house had been as enriched,” he judged. “Do you grow as Elves do or are you more alike to your mortal kin?”

“Elladan and I are more elven than mortal, or so _Naneth_ says,” Elrohir affirmed. “But we own ourselves less keen of sight or hearing than pureblooded Elves and we do feel the bite of the elements when they are at their harshest. We are as fleet-footed however and stronger than most Elves.”

“Stronger?”

The young Elf-knight nodded. “My father can easily throw most of our warriors and hold them down. Only the likes of Glorfindel can withstand him. I doubt it will be much different when I come to my full strength.” He grinned impishly. “If you wait until I have grown up, you may find yourself pinned under this Peredhel.” An instant later, Elrohir’s grin vanished and he looked at Legolas in horror. “That was not— I did not mean—” he stammered. 

Legolas softly laughed and placed a soothing hand on Elrohir’s shoulder. “I am sure you did not,” he said. “At least, not consciously.” His eyes positively twinkled with mischief when Elrohir began to sputter in earnest protest. “Oh come now, you are at an age given to such flights of fantasy. And while you may not deliberately think about them, I warrant they hover in the back of your mind, waiting to unsettle you at the least opportune moment.” 

He smiled sympathetically. “Do not be shamed by your feelings. I knew them well when I was your age. Indeed, I still know them to this day though I am more skilled at controlling them.” He winked at the still flustered youth and added: “Or concealing them.

Elrohir peered at Legolas curiously. “Why would you need to conceal your feelings?” he queried.

“Because there are situations where they would be most unseemly,” Legolas pointed out. “Such as when the Elf in question is not yet of age.”

That left Elrohir speechless for several seconds. At length, he managed to get around the seeming thickness of his tongue to muster a comprehensible rejoinder. “And is there an Elf in question at the moment?” he hesitantly asked.

Legolas did not reply at once. Elrohir wondered if he had overstepped his bounds and started to apologize. But the prince suddenly gazed at him and the words died in his throat.

“Not only your skin is different but your scent as well. Did you know that?” he murmured. Elrohir caught his breath when the archer leaned close and delicately sniffed the side of his neck. “It makes me think of heather and moonlight and pools of cool, clean water. I wager when you are full grown, many will count it a rare privilege to know you. And a great honor to be the first to do so.”

That was more than Elrohir could stand without shaming himself with a swoon. He came to a stop and stood still for a goodly while, awaiting the halt of the tremors that rendered his legs useless for walking and set his hands a-shaking.

“Forgive me, I should not speak of such matters with you,” Legolas said though his voice was warm with laughter. “Here, give me your arm, _pen neth_ , and permit me to be of aid.”

Elrohir could only comply. He did not know whether to welcome their further proximity or regret it. Legolas’s singular fragrance assaulted his senses all over again. He shyly looked at Legolas and saw that the archer was studying him in turn.

Summoning his courage, Elrohir declared, “I do not mind if you speak of these matters. Indeed, it pleases me you do not think me beneath you to engage in such talk.”

“I would never think you beneath me,” Legolas agreed. He smiled broadly. “But I can think _of_ you thusly arrayed.” 

Before a once more dumbstruck Elrohir could respond, the woodland prince chuckled and, pulling his charmingly discomposed young friend along, conducted him back to the house.

Elrond watched them from his upper floor bedchamber balcony. “Do my eyes deceive me or has Legolas succeeded where others have not?” he mused. He glanced at his wife. 

Celebrían shook her head. “Your eyes do not deceive you, husband. Methinks Elrohir has met his match.” 

********************************  
Glossary:  
Naneth – Mother  
pen neth – young one


	4. Temperance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ill-conceived misadventure earns the twins much more than they bargained for.

**Prompt: Spirit**

“Elrohir, please rouse yourself.”

“Let me be, Elladan. My head is splitting.”

“As is mine. But there are far worse things than a headache.”

The statement was followed by the sound of someone clearing his throat. Elrohir stiffened then raised his head off his pillow and turned it, warily unclosing his eyes. 

The countenance of his father swam into view. A most displeased countenance.

Though his head throbbed wretchedly, Elrohir hastily turned around and sat up. It proved a mistake for his stomach protested the sudden movement and chose to unburden itself then and there. He found himself heaving up its contents into a chamber pot that had been quickly shoved under his mouth. 

Once he was done, he weakly raised his head to thank the Elf who had come to his aid. Sympathetic sapphire eyes met his own bleary grey and he felt sick all over again. 

“I am sorry, Legolas,” he managed to croak.

“For overindulging in drink or for absconding with it in the first place?” Legolas mildly retorted.

Elrohir looked at the floor, willing it to open up and swallow him whole. A sidelong glance at Elladan told him his twin would gladly join him in an instant. Another glance behind their father informed him of the reason for Elladan's discomfiture. 

Erestor and Glorfindel looked on reprovingly. The younger twin groaned inwardly. 

Neither Elf was a laggard in the consumption of liquor but both acknowledged what they could tolerate and expected others to likewise refrain from going beyond their limits. They would deem it galling that their two most able students should flout this particular lesson when they were supposed to be examples to their peers. Ah, there would be no peace to be found with these two today. 

A cool, gentle hand cupped his hot cheek and he looked up into his mother’s slightly anxious face.

“Can you stand up?” Celebrían queried. Elrohir nodded and did so. 

Lowering their eyes to avoid the gazes of their largely reproachful audience, the twins followed their parents to the healing halls where Elrond dosed them with a noxious brew designed to counter the effects of the wine they had imbibed the night before. 

Celebrían thought it punishment enough for her sons’ folly. Not so Elrond who chided them as soon as they were clear-minded enough to withstand a scolding. Nor did it stop there.

“I doubt anything I say will make sense to you this morn, let alone stay in your minds long enough to join what store of knowledge you have somehow managed to gain,” Erestor tartly told them when they stumbled and stuttered their way through the first lessons of the day. “Get yourselves to the archery yard. Mayhap Glorfindel will find better use for you.”

But they fared no better with Glorfindel who coolly inquired whether they could see straight enough to ensure they did not loose their arrows into the wrong targets. “The next time you contemplate a career in thievery, do inform me beforehand that I need not trouble myself trying to make warriors out of you,” he said in a voice edged with acerbity and disappointment.

Elrohir did not need to look at Elladan to know his twin was close to tears. They both were but, being the elder, Elladan would feel the sting of the captain’s lowered regard more keenly. He was the heir apparent after all and much was expected of him. His misery proved more than Elrohir could bear.

“‘Twas I who suggested taking the wine,” he earnestly confessed. “Indeed, Elladan tried to stop me but I would not desist. Please do not be so hard on him.”

“Yet he joined you once you had the wine in hand,” Glorfindel pointed out. “That hardly absolves him of transgressing.” 

“But—”

“You are kind to try and take all the blame upon yourself, brother,” Elladan interrupted. “But Glorfindel is right. We are both at fault and must bear the consequences together.” 

After a moment’s hesitation, Elrohir sighed and nodded. 

Neither twin protested the additional chores given them as chastisement. Not the polishing of the weapons in the armory or the peeling and chopping of vegetables for the day’s meals or even cleaning out the stables, a chore they heartily despised. By nightfall, their spirits were at their lowest and they were both quite ready to swear off all alcoholic libations however tame. 

Thus, they were quite surprised when, upon entering the Hall of Fire that evening, their parents welcomed them, Elrond as warmly as Celebrían. Both clung to him a trifle longer than usual, as much in relief as in gratitude. Headed for their favorite couch afterward, they were hailed by Erestor and Glorfindel who were about to begin a game of Strategy.

The tacit invitation brought a smile to Elladan’s face and he eagerly strode toward the two. About to follow, Elrohir was waylaid by a friendly grip on his wrist. 

Legolas led him to a nearby settee instead and bade him sit with him.

“I trust you are recovered from your day’s penance,” he softly said.

“Somewhat,” Elrohir mumbled, his discomfort not quite eased.

“Why did you take the wine?” Legolas pressed.

Elrohir gulped, suddenly wishing he were at Elladan’s side. “We are forbidden to take anything stronger than what Father deems within our tolerance,” he admitted. “It made me envious when you brought out the Dorwinion last night and shared it with everyone and we could not have even a taste of it.”

“You could have asked me,” Legolas commented.

Elrohir shook his head. “I knew you would not go against my father’s rule in this.”

“And so you thought to sneak a taste. But it was more than a taste judging from the state you were in.”

“That is not so. We only drank one cup apiece.”

“Then how did you come to be intoxicated?”

Elrohir’s cheeks burned. “We did not know how potent Dorwinion is and doubly so when taken on top of other liquor,” he meekly explained. “At least, as far as Peredhil are concerned.”

Legolas considered this carefully. “Then your father’s rule is rooted in more than principle,” he remarked. “You are more susceptible to strong drink than most Elves.”

“Than all Elves,” Elrohir corrected. He bowed his head. “I know it is to protect us that Father restricts our intake of spirits. He does not wish ill to befall us.”

“And he has good reason to fear the worst with sons as beauteous as you. It would deeply distress him were you not in full possession of your senses when you consent to intimate relations with anyone.”

Elrohir turned startled eyes on the archer. “No one would dare...” he began to say. He faltered then rallied and declared: “Elves do not take what is not freely given!”

“And who is to say a drunken yea is not freely given?” Legolas pointed out. “Not all Elves would abstain from taking advantage of a golden opportunity. Your family history attests to this.” Seeing Elrohir’s wide-eyed response, he frowned. “You had not thought of that. Forgive me, ‘twas not my place to speak to you thusly.”

“Nay, ‘tis good of you to voice your concern,” Elrohir assured him. “It does not pay to be ignorant of the less admirable qualities of any kindred. I thank you for enlightening me.”

The archer regarded him thoughtfully. After a space, a slow roguish smile curved his lips.

“Will you be so thankful when you realize altruism alone did not compel me to speak as I did?” he said.

Elrohir stared at him. An instant later his face crimsoned in a full-blown blush. “You presume too much,” he stammered.

Legolas softly laughed. “Do I? Must I ply you then with drink to gain your compliance?” 

The younger twin caught his breath then turned his flaming face away for a spell. He felt Legolas take his hand and weave their fingers together. He glanced at the archer and saw that the latter was looking at him with candid appreciation. 

His embarrassment diminished as pleasure gradually took its place. He returned Legolas's gaze, his eyes beginning to sparkle once more.

“I did not quite speak the truth,” he murmured.

“Regarding what?” Legolas asked.

“That you presume too much.”


	5. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the most enviable of relationships has its share of pitfalls.

**Prompt: Heart**

Elrohir never imagined he could resent the advent of any of the Wandering Companies in Imladris. 

Always had he welcomed the presence of these itinerant Elves who called no particular realm home, fascinated as he was by their nomadic way of life. And Gildor Inglorion was invariably kind and forthcoming with his tales of the lands and folk outside the valley. Elrond's sons oft spent their days following him about, asking nigh innumerable questions about his adventures in the Wild.

But now, it was not Elrohir who was spending an inordinate amount of time with Gildor. And Elladan kept away as well in a gesture of brotherly sympathy and solidarity.

The younger twin pondered his chances as he made his way to the archery yard. He suspected Legolas’s schedule was already filled and there would be little time to spare for him. That had been the case for many a day now. 

Nevertheless, the intrepid Elf-knight had to make the attempt. Just this last time, he somberly promised himself.

As expected, he found the archer assiduously honing his already considerable bowman’s skills. When the Wood-elf was done, Elrohir joined him in gathering his arrows.

“My thanks, Elrohir,” Legolas said.

Elrohir handed over the arrows he had collected. “You are truly the best archer I know, Legolas,” he remarked as he watched the prince return the bolts to his quiver. “Would that I could do half as well as you.”

Legolas smiled at him. “I think you will do better than that. You and Elladan have the makings of exceptional archers.”

“Do we?” Elrohir beamed. “I am glad. I should like to excel in all the martial skills if possible.”

“And I would be glad to teach you what I can."

“Oh! Then what about now?” Elrohir hopefully suggested. “My morning is free for Erestor has been tasked by Father to help him correct some erroneous manuscripts.”

Legolas slung his quiver over his shoulder. “I wish I could, _pen neth_ ”—young one—he replied. “But I promised Gildor I would join him for a morning’s hike.”

As if on cue, Gildor strolled up to them. He warmly greeted Elrohir then asked Legolas if he was ready.

“I am,” Legolas answered. He looked at Elrohir. “Another time perhaps?”

Though he had half expected the rebuff, Elrohir found it no easier to take. Nonetheless, he managed to evenly say, “Aye, another time.”

But he did not seek Legolas after that. It would simply be too painful to be turned down once more.

“You should try again,” Elladan urged him a few evenings later while they watched some of the visiting Elves perform with Lindir in the Hall of Fire. 

“To what purpose?” Elrohir murmured. “It is clear his interest in me is at an end.”

“You do not know that.”

“Elladan, what can children like us offer in the way of entertainment compared to an Elf of Gildor’s experience?” Elrohir looked down gloomily. “And Gildor can meet certain of his needs that I cannot as yet.”

Elladan stared at him. “You have seen evidence of intimacy between them?”

“Nay, but I cannot imagine it otherwise. He is a hot-blooded Wood-elf and beautiful besides. Think you Gildor has not made an overture?”

“But it does not mean he accepted,” Elladan insisted.

“Oh?” Elrohir nodded his head toward the hall entrance. “Then what do you make of _that_?”

With some consternation, Elladan saw Legolas laughingly follow Gildor out of the hall. He turned back to his brother just as Elrohir stood up.

“I am tired,” the younger twin tightly whispered. Giving Elladan no chance to speak, he departed as well.

Morning found him in as morose a mood as the evening before. Elrond and Celebrían wondered about his uncharacteristic taciturnity at breakfast but he refused to reveal the cause. Elladan, on the other hand, did his best to subtly succor him in the same way that Elrohir had oft seen him through his own periods of pining.

His efforts came to naught however when, just as they were finishing their meal, Legolas entered the dining hall with Gildor. 

Elrohir paled then flushed. Mumbling an excuse to his parents, he rose and tried to leave unnoticed by the archer. 

But as luck would have it, Legolas looked in his direction. The prince flashed a friendly grin at him. 

For once, Elrohir could not respond in kind. Averting his eyes, he hurried out a side door. His unexpected evasion did not escape his parents’ notice. 

“Do you know what is amiss with Elrohir?” Elrond questioned his older son.

Elladan reluctantly nodded. He glanced at his mother when she reached across the table and laid a hand on his arm. 

“If it is in your power to set aright whatever ails your brother, then do so, dear one,” she counseled. “Do not let his pride hinder you in aiding him.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Elladan rose to his feet and walked to Legolas. The archer was seated with Gildor and some of his band but his frequent glances at the door through which Elrohir had exited betrayed his concern. When Elladan neared him, he stood, an uncertain smile on his face.

“I trust you had a good night,” Elladan ventured after exchanging greetings with the archer. His eyes briefly strayed to Gildor.

Legolas saw the furtive glance and frowned. He decided to dispense with diplomacy.

“Elrohir has made himself scarce of late,” he remarked. “Have I given him reason to be displeased with my company?”

Elladan pursed his lips then said: “If you wish to know his reasons, I suggest you go to him now. There is a path by the east wing of the house that leads up to a high ledge on the slope behind. It overlooks the valley. We like to go there when we are ... troubled.” He turned to leave then paused and looked back at the archer, a warning in his eyes. “Do not bring anyone with you, else you will not know my brother’s company again.” Whereupon, he rejoined his parents.

Legolas only lingered long enough to take leave of his companions. After that, he wasted no more time taking Elladan’s advice. 

He found the path easily and swiftly climbed the steep slope. It was thickly wooded in this section, which effectively hid the trail from any unaware of its existence. He soon came to a flat expanse of ground shaded by an overhanging outcropping of solid rock. 

Elrohir sat on a spongy mat of heather and grass, knees drawn up with his arms around them, eyes focused on the panorama of forest and streams and, way below, the clustered homes of the vale’s dwellers. 

Legolas took a moment to admire the comely picture he made before stepping onto the ledge. So quiet was he that Elrohir did not mark his presence until he was at his side. He looked up in surprise when Legolas sank down beside him. The archer regarded the vista before them. 

“Small wonder that you like this place,” he commented. Elrohir did not answer but only dipped his head in assent. Legolas sighed and shifted closer. “You have been avoiding my company these past few days,” he said.

Elrohir stiffened but he did not face the archer. “On the contrary, I have sought it but you have not seen fit to bestow it on me.” He hugged his knees closer. “Not since Gildor and his folk arrived.”

Silence met his reply. A moment later, Legolas raised a hand and gripped his shoulder. The prince contritely said, “I am sorry, I did not mean to neglect you. It shall not happen again.”

Elrohir looked sidelong at him. “Please do not apologize for what was only to be expected,” he murmured. “It was kind of you to spare me so much of your time but verily it was never possible for me to hold your attention indefinitely.”

When Legolas started to protest, he forestalled the archer with a firm shake of his head. “I have neither the depth of knowledge nor the wealth of experience you undoubtedly seek in your companions.” He smiled a little sadly. “I am only a child after all.”

Legolas grimaced. “Knowledge and experience do go a long way in keeping a conversation lively. But if the desire for another’s company goes no further than that, then they count for little.” He squeezed Elrohir’s shoulder. “I will not deny I enjoy talking with Gildor. And I admit my elation over learning much from him caused me to behave so poorly toward you. For that I beg your pardon, Elrohir. But know I have no intention of going beyond talk with Gildor. I would make him a friend but not a lover.”

Elrohir sharply glanced at him. “You did not—” He caught himself and flushed.

“Pass the night in his bed,” Legolas finished for him. “We parted after a few drinks in his quarters.”

“Surely he importuned you,” Elrohir softly said.

“He did but I declined.”

Elrohir frowned. “Why? He is handsome and kind and highborn. And he has seen much that many have not. What was lacking?”

“He does not touch my heart.” At Elrohir’s puzzled expression, Legolas explained. “When I was newly come of age, I was as indiscriminate in my choices of partners as any callow youth. But time and circumstances have taught me to forego mere dalliances in favor of true intimacy.” 

He reached for one of Elrohir’s hands and clasped it in his. “I must feel something more than simple lust to engage in bodily union with another,” the archer continued. “I would counsel you to learn from my mistakes, _pen neth_. If and when you choose to share yourself thusly, look beyond the heat of the night to the cold morning after. Ask yourself first, ‘Will it be a memory to cherish or regret?’”

The younger twin regarded him curiously. “It seems you rued a number of your early experiences.”

Legolas sighed. “I was young and eager and heedless. I did not give thought to what my partners wanted of me; only what I desired of them.” 

He looked keenly at Elrohir. “You are as I, a king’s son though your father refused the crown. Many will covet you for that alone. Holding yourself aloof will be your best defense. Yet it can also be your worst weapon, hurting those whose desires go further than lust for your name or beauty. Prudence tempered with gentleness will go a long way in easing hurt feelings.”

Elrohir nodded thoughtfully. “Have you ever given your heart?” he asked.

“If I had, I would be wed by now,” the archer pointed out. “I held some affection for a chosen few but never so great that I was tempted to bind my spirit for eternity.” 

Emboldened by Legolas’s forthrightness, Elrohir dared another query. “Who are you most likely to espouse: an _ellon_ or an _elleth_?”

Golden eyebrows rose in some amusement. “Wherefore your question?”

Elrohir shrugged though his cheeks colored slightly. “I would like to know your true preference,” he honestly replied.

Legolas faintly smiled. “My first experiences were with _ellith_ ," he recounted. “But when I started training in my father’s army, I also trysted with _ellyn_. However, being heir has its limitations and I have been encouraged to dally with maids. Not that my father forbids me to bind to an _ellon_. But for so long as we live east of the Sea, there is no certitude of life. He would naturally prefer that there be another generation after me to ensure our house continues to hold the crown. Needless to say, I was as determined as he to do as duty dictates.” Legolas paused. “But now… that is no longer the case.”

Elrohir’s breath hitched. “Why so?” he asked in a hushed voice.

Blue eyes met grey. “I came to Imladris,” Legolas simply said.

The color in Elrohir’s cheeks heightened. But the young Elf did not jump to any conclusions. That would be foolish and only asking for disappointment. After all, he was still many years short of his majority. However, he could be frank about one thing.

“I hope that does not change too soon.”

“It will not.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because the reason for it still has some growing to do.”

Elrohir gazed searchingly at the archer. “You will need to be very patient,” he reminded him.

Legolas chuckled. “I have gone without for nigh three score years. What is another two decades or so?”

“You will abstain then?” Elrohir said somewhat doubtfully.

“I told you, I do not share myself lightly.”

Elrohir studied him for a long spell. A soft exhalation escaped his lips and he turned his eyes once more to the view of the valley.

“I have lessons,” he murmured. “We had best be getting back.”

They rose to their feet, Legolas regarding Elrohir with some concern. But just before he stepped off the ledge onto the path, Elrohir turned back and looked at him, his eyes alight with quiet joy.

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

Before Legolas realized what he was about, he stretched up and pressed his lips lightly to the Wood-elf’s cheek. Then he was hurrying down the path.

Legolas stared after him in astonishment. He raised a hand to where Elrohir’s lips had touched his cheek. His eyes gleamed and the corners of his mouth turned up. 

For this alone the archer deemed his sojourn in Imladris well worth his time. He swiftly followed Elrohir down the slope. 

**********************************  
Glossary:  
wherefore – for what reason ( _archaic_ )  
ellon (pl. ellyn) – male Elf  
elleth (pl. ellith) – Elf-maid


	6. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A piece of obscure history plays a part in further shaping Legolas and Elrohir’s friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear with this indulgence of my penchant for incorporating odd traditions and the like. The practice mentioned here however is not a custom of any specific culture or era but rather an amalgam of bits and pieces from various legends and lore.

**Prompt: Red**

_Lairë_ T.A. 163  
The treasury of Imladris was quite unlike anything Legolas had expected. Great wealth there was to be found within the four walls of the windowless chamber, but it was not necessarily measured in coin or baubles alone. Artifacts, some of fairly recent vintage, others of almost immeasurable age, reposed cheek by jowl with strongboxes filled with gold and silver and precious gems. Shelves and chests overflowed with everything from antique weaponry and heirloom ornaments to elaborate tapestries and artfully crafted toys. 

The archer gingerly turned the delicate pages of an ancient tome saved from the ruins of Nargothrond. There were many more books like it as well as musical manuscripts and art from a time long lost to the ages. These were works deemed nigh irreplaceable and thus had been consigned not to the public archives but to this guarded repository of riches. 

He glanced up and saw that the brethren Elladan and Elrohir were still absorbed in putting together a near life-sized physician’s mannikin spirited out of Doriath before its fall millennia ago. Erestor had assigned them the task for their morning’s lesson.

Legolas had come upon the three as they made their way to the treasury. History was one of the subjects Elrond desired his sons to master and, in his determination that they fulfilled their father’s wish, Erestor did not restrict himself to the written or spoken word when teaching the twins. It was not uncommon for him to instruct them in the use of something in addition to having them read about it. 

Replacing the book on its shelf, Legolas wandered to a glass-fronted cabinet that housed opulent tableware. He looked the contents over wonderingly. Gold-rimmed plates, silver drinking cups, bejeweled cutlery and fine crystalware—they looked very costly but he did not recognize their origins. He was only certain they were not of elven make. Mannish perhaps?

Reaching into the cabinet, he plucked a large crimson-hued glass goblet and examined it with interest. The body of the vessel was overlaid with gold into which tracings had been deftly etched. A moment later, his eyes widened when he recognized the delicate markings as representations of couples in various acts of bodily intimacy. A closer look and he realized the tiny figures were of mortal men and women, not Elves.

“What is this?” he asked his companions, running his fingers over the unexpectedly lascivious tracings. 

When they saw what he held, the twins could not help snickering. Even Erestor smiled as he came to the archer’s side.

“This is a trysting cup,” he explained. “It was used by the Númenorean royal family for their sons’ first night rites.”

“First night rites?”

Erestor nodded. “It was the custom of the Edain and the Númenoreans after them that when a youth came of age his passage into manhood was marked by the loss of his virginity. Arnor still observes the custom today. In the royal family, the rite was further formalized in that the young prince chose his partner from amongst the guests at his majority celebrations. He indicated his choice by handing his cup of wine to the intended lady.” Erestor tapped the rim of the goblet. “She signified her consent by drinking from the cup at the same place as he had.” 

Legolas frowned. “And if she refused?”

The counsellor snorted. “It was deemed highly impolitic to refuse. There is no record of anyone rejecting a royal overture. Besides, it was counted a great honor to be granted a prince’s first night.”

“Even if one was already wed or promised to another?” the archer said disbelievingly.

“Even then. Indeed, a lady who had graced the bed of a newly come-of-age prince was accorded much respect at court. And it was not unheard of for the king to bestow wealth and privileges on her father, husband or betrothed, as the case may be, as reward for her service to the crown.” 

“Incredible.” Legolas returned the goblet. “And I thought I could no longer be surprised by anything these mortals might do.”

“You may yet bear witness to it if you return for the twins’ majority celebration,” Erestor said. “Arnor’s king is kin to the Peredhil and will likely attend. If I know Elrond at all, he will pay homage to that kinship by having his sons enact the rite. That is, if they desire to mark their coming of age thusly,” he quickly added. “Elrond would never compel them to do anything just for political expediency.”

“I should hope not,” Legolas wryly commented. He briefly studied the brethren who had returned their attention to the mannikin. “And will you?” he softly queried. 

They looked up and at each other. At length, Elrohir shrugged. “If I feel inclined to mark my majority thusly and do not find it discomfiting to have my choice for first night known, I might consider it,” he said. 

But Elladan shook his head. “Not I,” the older twin declared. “‘Tis bad enough that some expect us to carry on such a heathen tradition. I will not have my choice or lack of one revealed to everybody. But then, you have always been brave about such things,” he told his brother, admiration limning his voice.

“You mean foolhardy,” Elrohir mirthfully shot back. His smile faded somewhat when he noted Legolas’s thoughtful expression. 

“First night,” the archer murmured. “Such an odd tradition. Well, it will certainly liven up the proceedings.” He grinned of a sudden. “If only to see for myself how such a rite is conducted, I think I _will_ attend your majority celebration.”

Elrohir felt his cheeks burn. Elbereth, it seemed as if he had spent the past many months with his face perpetually awash in red! 

“I did not say I would do it,” he huffed to the others’ amusement. “Only that I would consider it.” Visibly perturbed, he lifted the mannikin and presented it to Erestor. “Is there aught more to be done with this?” he asked.

Erestor smiled approvingly. “You have both done well. Perhaps you share Glorfindel’s facility for assembly as well as the battle arts.” 

He took the mannikin and laid it in its storage case. The twins and Legolas carefully extinguished the lamps and candles then followed Erestor out of the treasury.

As they walked down the hallway back to the main wing of the house, Legolas asked Elrohir: “Should you decide to uphold the custom, will you use that cup?” 

The youth sighed. “I do not wish to,” he admitted. “It is a mite too obvious for my taste.”

Elladan chortled while Legolas had to grin. “It is quite lacking in subtlety,” the archer agreed. 

“Nevertheless, you will need to use it for diplomacy’s sake,” Elladan pointed out. “It would please our Dúnedain kin.”

“Unless they offer the use of theirs,” Erestor interjected. He explained to Legolas: “Valandil of Andúnië commissioned a trysting cup for his own heirs and that is what is used in Arnor today. The one in the treasury belonged to the royal house and Elendil turned it over to Elrond along with the other mementos he saved from the Downfall of Númenor.” 

The soft ringing of a bell resounded through the corridor, informing them that it was time for the midday meal. They spoke no more of the morning’s elucidations but quickened their pace to join the others in the dining hall.

* * * *

“Why do you hesitate to tell him?” Elladan demanded. “Do you not trust him enough?”

Elrohir scowled. “This has nothing to do with trust! Would you be so confident were you in my place? It is not so easy as that, Elladan!”

The brethren strove to keep their voices down. They were standing in a public corridor after all and neither was keen to have their secrets become fodder for gossip and speculation in the valley. 

“You are retreating ere you have even begun, brother,” Elladan remarked. “Valar, I never thought you to be so craven.”

“I am not craven!” Elrohir retorted, stung to the quick. A moment later, he caught his breath as a familiar figure approached them. “Elladan—” he whispered, his cheeks paling.

But before Elladan could reply, Legolas was upon them. He smiled at Elrohir, indicating the garden porch entrance with a tilt of his fair head. “Shall we?” he said.

With a last barely concealed look of appeal to his twin, Elrohir accompanied the archer out into the garden for their customary evening stroll. He did his best to hide his anxiety. To no avail. 

It did not take long for Legolas to sense his unease.

Ordinarily, they would either fall into easy conversation or lapse into companionable silence. Such was not the case tonight. Elrohir’s attempts at dialogue seemed stilted at best, disjointed at worst. The archer did not wait long to ask him if there was something wrong.

Deciding that confession was less burdensome than dissemblance, Elrohir hesitantly said, “I know it is too soon to broach the matter but I must say it before I lose my courage and verily I will lose it if I do not say it now.”

Legolas placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “What is this thing that unsettles you so?” he coaxed.

“You will likely laugh but…” Elrohir drew a deep bolstering breath. “I would like to make a request of you. Should I choose to mark my coming of age as my mortal forebears did, it would please me if you would take first night rites with me.”

He winced at the patent look of surprise on the archer’s face, which was soon followed by a slight frown.

“I am not demanding you make any promises at this early date,” Elrohir quickly clarified. “Only that you consider the possibility of shepherding me through ... through…” His voice trailed away as embarrassment burgeoned and his courage waned. “Please do not laugh,” he finally said in a small voice. 

Fingers slipped under his chin and he was compelled to look up. He swallowed hard upon meeting Legolas’s gaze. The archer’s hand slid to his nape and soothingly rubbed it.

“Why would I laugh, _pen neth_?—young one—the prince gently said. “Indeed, how could anyone treat such a gift with anything less than reverence and pleasure?” The corners of his mouth tilted upward in a warm smile. “It is, as you say, much too soon to commit ourselves to any course of action,” Legolas continued. “But were it not for that, I would waste no more time in consideration and grant your request forthwith.” 

Elrohir gazed at him in disbelief. But soon enough, he beamed gratefully. “I am truly fortunate to have gained your amity,” he said in a hushed voice. “You are as kind and noble as you are beautiful, Legolas.”

To both their surprises, Legolas suddenly blushed. While Elrohir stared at him in wonder, Legolas raised a hand to a heated cheek. He ruefully laughed.

“Who would have thought that I could be abashed by a youngling’s blandishments?” he murmured. 

His words spurred Elrohir into swift protest. “I uttered only the truth,” he asserted, not troubling to hide his youthful adulation of the archer. “If that truth be construed as mere praise, what of it? You are more than worthy of it.”

His heartfelt compliment earned him so heart-stopping a smile that he nigh forgot to breathe. 

Eyes oddly aglitter, Legolas softly said, “Take heed, Elf-knight. You might inspire far more than mere gratitude if you continue to lavish me with such high praise. And that will not do at all until you have grown a little more.” 

With that, he firmly escorted his speechless charge back to the house. But he did not see fit to withdraw his hand from the young Elf’s nape.

*************************  
Glossary:  
lairë – Quenya for summer  
mannikin – an old, variant spelling of mannequin  
Valandil – first Lord of Andúnië, he was the son of Silmariën, eldest daughter of Tar-Elendil, fourth King of Númenor. Valandil is the direct ancestor of Elendil, founder of Arnor and Gondor.


	7. Attestation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The turn of a season portends the beginning of a new phase in Legolas and Elrohir’s friendship.

**Prompt: Fall**

_Yavië_ T.A. 167  
Elrohir savagely batted away a leaf that had dared to waft down onto his face. His brother glanced at him with amusement.

“There is no need to vent your spleen on an innocent leaf,” Elladan mildly reproved. “‘Tis hardly its fault that you chose to come this way.” 

Elrohir glared at him then subsided with a sigh when Elladan only responded with an indulgent grin. “I hate autumn,” he muttered.

The older twin smothered a snicker. “Since when?” he speciously wondered. “You have always enjoyed the onset of leaf-fall. Why this sudden dislike?” 

Elrohir kicked at a mound of leaves just as a sharp breeze swept down the orchard lane, snatching up the scattering foliage into a flurry of rust, brown and gold. The Elf-knight forlornly stared at the swirling mass.

Elladan draped an arm around his shoulder. “You act as if this will be the last you will see of him,” he said. 

“It may be,” Elrohir retorted. 

“And it may not,” Elladan countered. He shook Elrohir slightly. “I do not think Legolas intends it to be.”

A hint of color stained his brother’s cheeks. “He is his father’s heir,” Elrohir pointed out. “He cannot always do as he desires.”

“Nor can we, yet we manage to have our way enough to suit us,” Elladan reminded him. “And Legolas does not strike me as one who permits others to order his life for him.”

“Nay, but his sense of duty is as strong as ours,” Elrohir said. “There are certain obligations he is bound to uphold.” 

“Obligations he is ready to circumvent should the need arise. Or so you told me.”

“He did say this.”

“And he also said that he would consider your request.” At Elrohir’s nod, Elladan lightly punched his arm. “Then why so doleful? Do not such assurances please you?”

“I am pleased,” Elrohir averred. “I never expected he would treat me thusly. But there is no surety that he can indeed fulfill his intentions. Not always. And not when the well-being of the Greenwood folk is at stake. Between the needs of his people and the wishes of a single Elf from another land, what think you will he choose?” 

Elladan snorted. “And what need could possibly persist without end? Really, Elrohir, you are creating obstacles where there are none as yet!” He chuckled, earning a frown from his brother. “You have truly fallen hard that ‘tis I who must now hearten you when, in times past, ‘twas you who oft cheered me up.”

Before Elrohir could reply, Elladan grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back down the lane toward the house.

“Do not waste your time fretting over what might or might not come to be when you still have a whole fortnight’s worth of his company,” he told his protesting twin. “Be glad for what you do have!”

Effectively silenced, Elrohir stared at him in amazement. “Thank you,” he murmured sheepishly. “I have indeed been wallowing in baseless fancies. In this you have proved wiser than I, brother.” 

Elladan smirked. “Then perhaps Father should reconsider training you to be my chief counsellor,” he suggested. He barely evaded an indignant swat.

Elrohir did as his brother counselled and indeed found much to enjoy in the remaining two weeks of the woodland prince’s stay. Altogether he counted that summer one of the most memorable of his young life and he had ample reason to believe Legolas deemed it so as well. Nonetheless, as the archer’s visit drew to a close and Legolas prepared for his journey home, the young Elf-knight could not help the pangs of imminent loss that smote him each passing day.

The morning of his departure, Legolas found a slender package at the door to his bedchamber. Wrapped in a swath of dark blue cloth was a knife encased in a fine leather sheath. A long, white-hilted knife of a make foreign to the Wood-elf. Ah, wait, he had seen Glorfindel brandish a blade of similar design. He twirled it experimentally and was delighted at how right the hilt felt in his hand. Examining it further, he saw that his name had been inscribed on one side of the blade, his royal insignia on the other. His eyes gleamed with pleasure at such an apt and beauteous gift. 

He immediately sought out Elrohir, drawing him aside to sit apart from the others in the dining hall. Smiling, he showed the knife at his belt to the youth and warmly thanked him. Elrohir lifted shining eyes to him.

“I am so glad it pleases you,” he said. 

“How did you come by it?” Legolas inquired.

“It is one of a pair that was gifted on me my last begetting day,” Elrohir explained. “Elladan received a similar set. Father and his brother Elros received them from Gil-galad when they first came to his court in Lindon. Elros gave instructions ere he died that certain of his belongings be sent to _Ada_. His knives were among them.” Elrohir’s smile turned just a shade pensive. “‘Twas to me that _Ada_ gave those knives because he said he saw something of his brother in me.”

“Will he not be displeased that you have parted with one?” Legolas said with concern.

Elrohir shook his head. “I told him I wanted to give you something dear to me,” he replied. “As an expression of my gratitude at earning your friendship.” 

The archer’s eyes softened. “Then I will treasure this gift all the more,” he declared. 

They were just about done with breakfast when Legolas’s people approached and informed him all was in readiness for their departure. Elrohir did his best to school his expression, pressing his lips together to keep them from trembling. But something of his sorrow showed through nonetheless. 

“Will you see me off?” Legolas asked.

Elrohir nodded, not trusting himself to speak without betraying himself in some way. He walked with Legolas to the courtyard in silence. Elladan joined him when the archer turned to speak to their parents.

He remained subdued as he watched Legolas thank Elrond and Celebrían for their hospitality before bidding them farewell. Elladan surreptitiously rubbed his back in sympathy and he glanced at his twin, casting him a rather crooked smile. He was quite startled therefore when Legolas took him by his elbow and, with a tilt of his head, indicated he desired a private moment with him.

They walked to Legolas’s horse but the archer did not mount at once. Instead he solemnly gazed at the younger of Elrond’s sons who had more than simply befriended him.

“I will miss you,” he said. He placed a hand on Elrohir’s shoulder and felt the faint tremor that proved the youth less than composed. “Will you write me? Keep me informed of what you are about?”

Elrohir swallowed and nodded. “And will you do the same?” he asked.

That earned him a chuckle. “Of course. How else shall I let you know if I decide to grant your request?”

Elrohir flushed at the teasing reminder of his boldness. Of a sudden, he felt a surge of urgency and he reached up to touch the hand that gripped his shoulder. 

Looking earnestly at the prince, he said just a tad breathlessly: “Legolas, the rite itself means little to me. I may well follow Elladan’s example and choose not to observe it. Indeed, I do not know if I will be ready come my majority to-to be intimate with anyone. That is, anyone other than you. Should that be the case … will my request still hold merit with you?” 

He shivered under the Wood-elf’s gaze. He felt Legolas’s hand turn under his to clasp it, then caught his breath when the archer drew their joined hands toward himself to press them to his breast. 

Over his heart, Elrohir realized with a thrill. 

“It matters not how and when you finally decide to share yourself, _pen neth_ ”—young one—Legolas softly assured him. “To be asked to guide you in your first intimacy is in itself a great honor. I am deeply moved that you would entrust me with so precious a milestone in your life.” He smiled at the Elf-knight with aching tenderness. “Until we meet again, Elrohir Elrondion.”

Elrohir felt an answering smile curve his mouth. “Until we meet again,” he responded, his voice now steady.

He was much lighter of heart as he watched the Greenwood Elves ride out of the courtyard. Especially when Legolas threw him a parting grin, his hand going to his belt to touch the knife that hung from it. 

With that, Elrohir broke into a smile so dazzling Elladan covered his eyes in spurious defense against its brilliance. 

***********************  
Glossary:  
yavië – Quenya for autumn  
Ada – Papa  
Elrondion – son of Elrond


	8. Propensity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins ponder the difference between elemental desire and deep-rooted passion.

**Prompt: He**

Imladris, T.A. 174  
As the summer progressed, the days grew steadily balmier, the comfortable temperatures at the onset of the season supplanted occasionally by the sweltering heat that could at times beset the north of Middle-earth. It was not a frequent occurrence by any standard but when such uncommon warmth did afflict the region, it was not unheard of for its denizens to seek respite in the cooling waters of sundry waterways. Not even the Elves.

The brethren Elladan and Elrohir had that in mind as they made their way to the tributary stream by the Last Homely House that fed the majestic Bruinen. 

The sultry weather troubled them a bit more than it did the other Elves in the valley. Only their father shared their discomfort; understood the annoyance of moisture profuse enough to leave a sticky film on one’s skin. Not that the Peredhil perspired as excessively as the mortals to whom they were distant kin. They were far more elven than they were mannish after all. But the kinship was there nonetheless and they were just that slightly more susceptible to the extremes of weather.

Elladan wiped his moist cheeks with the sleeve of his equally damp shirt. He glanced at his brother who was likewise discomfited by the way his sweat-laden attire clung to his body in telling places. 

“Confound this infernal heat!” Elrohir muttered. “How I wish _Ada_ would do something about it. He cannot possibly feel more at ease in this warmth than us.”

“He is not at ease,” Elladan affirmed. “Last I saw them, _Nana_ was insisting that he soak himself in a cool bath ere he met with Círdan’s emissaries. She said it would do his dignity much harm were he to faint from heatstroke in front of his guests.”

Elrohir chuckled. “Sometimes I think _Nana_ is the more sensible between them.” He sighed as a tiny rivulet streaked down the side of his neck. “I do not truly expect _Ada_ to use his ring for something as petty as banishing a heat wave. It is just so warm!”

“I know. Take heart, we are almost there,” Elladan soothed him.

‘There’ was the shallower portion of the tributary where the current was also weaker. The path leading to it sloped downward and the stream was slightly hidden from plain view thanks to the many trees and shrubs that had taken root along its banks and a scattering of boulders higher up. For those reasons, it was a favored spot among the vale’s dwellers for intimate picnics and the usual accompanying dip in its bracing waters.

As the youngsters hastened toward the stream, they failed in their eagerness to notice that there were others who had availed of it ahead of them. Only when they came in full sight of the stream did they realize their error. 

A cacophony of squeals and shrieks greeted their arrival while they stopped short in their tracks, eyes widening in dismay and chagrin at the sight before them. Even as the maidens they had burst upon swiftly dipped below the water or snatched up shifts and gowns to hide white limbs and shoulders, the soft swell of breasts and sweetly rounded hips and bottoms, the twins turned on their heels to escape only to collide with yet another Elf-maid as she hurried forward. 

Red-faced and abashed beyond belief, the brethren stammered their apologies while scrambling around the equally flustered Elf-maid and raced back the way they came. Behind them, they heard some of the indignant outbursts change to giggles while someone chastised the negligent maiden they had bumped into for failing to give adequate warning either to them or to Lord Elrond’s sons.

Coming to a stop a safe distance away, the twins warily looked at each other. An instant later, they burst into snickers, shaking their heads at their unexpectedly revealing mishap.

“I think a little further upstream,” Elladan decided when they stopped laughing to catch their breaths.

“Agreed,” Elrohir replied and turned to lead the way.

When they finally reached their destination, they quickly shed their clothes. As Elrohir dropped his breeches, Elladan noticed the less than languid condition of the younger twin’s nether region.

“You were not unaffected by the sight of them, were you?” he grinned.

“Neither were you,” Elrohir retorted, pointedly staring at the tented state of his brother’s trousers.

He waded into the water, sighing blissfully as blessed coolness enveloped him. Elladan followed swiftly. For the next several minutes, they bathed in silence, awaiting the easing of their bodies from their earlier discomfort. 

At length, they sat themselves in the shallows by the banks, their sulky moods largely tempered by their leisurely swim. Some seven years had passed since that memorable summer when a Wood-elven prince had indelibly made a mark on Elrohir’s heart and Elladan had admitted if only to his brother the awakening of his. 

In that time, the brethren had grown ever more comely of countenance and their fair forms held the promise of their forebears’ enviable heights and formidable strength. Even now, their lean frames were taut with young muscle; scarcely a hint of the softness of childhood still remained to mar the sleek lines of their limbs and torsos.

In the midst of idle conversation, Elrohir noted the mild crease in his twin’s temple. “What bothers you?” he suddenly asked.

Elladan glanced at him. “Not so much bothers as puzzles me,” he confessed. “Elrohir, did you—” He paused and turned to face his twin. “I know you were as roused as I by that sight of them,” he tried again.

Elrohir shrugged. “It was natural enough,” he said. “They are passing fair after all. And ‘tis not often that we get a glimpse of the graces they hide so demurely beneath their gowns.”

“More than a glimpse,” Elladan chuckled. “Still...” He grew serious once more. “Do you feel aught now that you are away from them?”

The Elf-knight stared at him. “If you mean do I lust for them…” When Elladan nodded, he shook his head. “Not really. It was a pleasure to look at their bodies but I do not pine for more. At least, not the way I long for—” He stopped and colored.

“Not the way you long for Legolas’s tutelage,” Elladan supplied. When his brother said nothing, the older twin pursed his lips. “Are we made for loving male-kind then?” he murmured. “For I feel as you. I enjoyed my glimpse of their charms, but I am not particularly interested in going beyond that. There was nothing of the–the desire for more as when male-flesh is bared before me.” 

“All male-flesh?” Elrohir delicately probed.

Elladan looked at him, faintly flushed, but thought about it nonetheless. “I do get curious,” he finally conceded. “I wonder what it would be like to be intimate with another male. But I do not wish to share myself with just any Elf.”

“It has to be _him_ ,” Elrohir stated. Seeing Elladan’s flush deepen, he murmured: “Then we are agreed on this.” 

He looked up at the clear sky. Nary a cloud blotted that vast azure expanse. “Occasionally, when we train with the warriors, I am beset by strange sensations. I was frightened when I first knew them. I wondered what they meant. But then, Legolas came and I felt them more strongly than ever. And I realized then what they were. Only … only now I understand that those first stirrings were little more than visceral reactions to the forms I find most pleasing. With Legolas, it goes deeper. I know my body wants him. But even more than that, _I_ want him.”

Elladan soberly regarded his brother. “Thank you,” he said at last. “You have helped me understand my feelings.”

The younger twin snorted. “But I think you did understand what it was you felt, Elladan,” he insisted. “You only wanted to know if I shared it. To confirm that you are not alone in this.” 

Elladan stared at him, eyebrows rising in uncanny imitation of their sire. “I take back what I said ,” he remarked. “Father was right to choose you to be my chief counsellor.”

Elrohir grinned. “If you agree that _Ada_ is the wisest Elf in Middle-earth, then of course he was right.”

“I thought you said _Nana_ was the more sensible one,” Elladan reminded him.

“Sometimes I question whether wisdom and sensibleness are the same,” Elrohir mused. “Else, how is it that the Wise have not solved Arda’s problems until now?”

Elladan guffawed at the irreverent swipe. He was about to reply when someone hailed them from behind. 

They glanced back to see one of the scribes approaching them. They did not move but waited for him to come to them. When he did, he looked down at them in some disconcertment, conscious that they were unclothed and obviously enjoying a moment of leisure.

“Ah, forgive me,” he said, his cheeks reddening. “I did not mean to intrude but Master Erestor asked me to look for you.”

The twins glanced at each other and had to grin. The Elf was a new member of Erestor’s staff and just barely past his majority. His manner betrayed his excitement at being tasked with searching for Lord Elrond’s sons and delivering whatever message had been entrusted to him.

“What does Erestor need of us?” Elladan kindly queried.

“Oh, actually, ‘tis Elrohir he seeks,” the scribe amended. “A letter has arrived for him. From Eryn Galen.”

Elrohir was on his feet in an instant, uncaring of his unclad state, unheeding of the scribe’s embarrassed averting of his eyes.

“Eryn Galen!” he exclaimed, snatching up his clothes. “Is it from Legolas?”

“Aye,” the scribe answered, not quite knowing where to direct his gaze now that Elladan had risen from the water as well. 

He respectfully kept his eyes everywhere but on the two young Elves while they donned their clothes. However, when the twins hurried back to the house, he finally stared after them, a gleam of appreciation limning his perusal. After a while, he ruefully shook his head. 

Fruitless to wonder about what was beyond his reach. Elrond’s sons were meant for Elves of higher stature and greater renown than he. Elves like the Greenwood realm’s valorous crown prince or Rivendell’s own hallowed lords. Verily, only the noblest Elves to walk Middle-earth could count themselves worthy of these beauteous scions of the Mariner’s house. 

With a wistful sigh, he slowly followed in their wake. 

****************************  
Glossary:  
Ada – Papa  
Nana – Mama  
Eryn Galen – Greenwood the Great


	9. Becoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A change in plans begets a change in perceptions.

**Prompt: Middles**

_Narië_ T.A. 178  
“Summer in Eryn Galen?”

“But what of Lothlórien?”

Elrond smiled at his sons’ incredulity. Well, the invitation from Thranduil had come as a surprise to him as well. After all, relations between the Silvan Elves of Greenwood the Great and the other elven realms had suffered to a certain extent in the wake of the War of the Last Alliance. 

Thranduil had not cut off all ties with his erstwhile confederates but neither had he fostered anything more than cautious amity with them. And this latter gesture was more for the sake of his people’s security than any desire for greater friendship with his counterparts. The Imladrin lord glanced down at the letter on his desk written in the woodland king’s own hand. 

“I was as surprised when I read this,” he told them. “But your grandparents themselves would urge me to accept. Thranduil’s reasons are sound even if they were obviously put forth to him by someone else.”

Elrohir leaned forward in his seat. “Legolas?” he ventured.

Elrond nodded. “I believe he appealed to his father’s pride in their people. Else why would Thranduil trouble to extend this invitation that I might ‘ _personally see how our people have fared since the decimation of their ranks during the last war and our removal to the north of Eryn Galen?_ ’ It would be a point of honor with Thranduil to prove that his folk are far doughtier than too many of us tend to believe.”

He suppressed a grin when Elrohir snorted and said: “Only fools and lackwits would think the Wood-elves anything less than brave and strong and-and capable. Why, one need only spend time with their prince and know any belief otherwise is an ill-founded fallacy!”

Elladan chuckled softly. “‘Tis a pity King Thranduil is not around to hear so spirited a championing of his son and subjects,” he teased. “I wager it would go a long way in mending fences between his people and ours.”

“Indeed,” Elrond agreed. “All the more reason to accept his invitation and prove we bear the Silvan folk no ill regard but highly esteem them.”

“Which is what Legolas intended I presume,” Celebrían said as she entered the study. She received her sons’ greetings then looked at her husband inquiringly. “Erestor tells me you have instructed him to prepare for departure within a fortnight. Is there need for such haste, husband?”

Elrond reached out a hand and, when his wife slipped hers into his, drew her to him and onto his lap. The twins exchanged glances then furtively snickered in the manner of youths the world over when presented with the picture of their parents so romantically posed. Elrond paid them no mind but held his lady even closer.

“The earlier we set foot in their kingdom, the lengthier will be our stay and the more opportunities there will be to strengthen our ties with them,” Elrond reasoned. “Therefore, aye, there is some need for haste.”

Celebrían pressed a fond kiss to his temple. “And I suppose your anticipation of Elrohir’s delight had naught to do with it,” she murmured.

Elladan chortled while his brother turned a nice shade of red. Meanwhile, Elrond clucked his tongue at his wife but shortly broke into a wide smile.

* * * *

A week into the ensuing preparations for the visit to the forest realm, Elladan walked into Elrohir’s room to find his twin glaring at the mountain of apparel and sundry other clothing items on his bed. Elladan came to his side and stared at the bounteous mess.

“Are you planning to take up permanent residence in Eryn Galen?” he mildly inquired upon ascertaining that his brother was attempting to pack for their approaching journey. “Surely you do not need everything in your wardrobe for a summer’s visit.”

Elrohir scowled and tossed the tunic he was holding aside. “I am only trying to select what will suit me best,” he readily admitted. “It has been eleven years since Legolas came here, Elladan. I cannot help but wonder whether he will remember the young Elf—”

“The charming young Elf,” Elladan cheekily interjected.

“—of his earlier acquaintance.” Elrohir glowered at him before continuing. “Or will he think me a gangling creature not worth his time and attention.”

Elladan nigh choked on the idea. “ _Gangling?_ ” he repeated disbelievingly. “Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds? No Elf in Arda could ever describe us thusly, Elrohir! We are too solid of frame which is only to be expected given our heritage.”

To his surprise, Elrohir only looked more alarmed. “Do you think so?” he anxiously said. “Then would he not be put off by this less than lithe form?”

The older twin did not quite know whether to laugh or groan. “Elrohir! Just because we have more meat to us does not mean we lack in lissomness!” he exclaimed. He grabbed his brother and pushed him in front of the mirror. “Do you think we could compare to our mannish kin? Why, they mistake us for Elf-maids far too often as it is! And Glorfindel is forever telling us to gain more weight if we hope to hold our own against his warriors.” He shook his head. “If you need evidence of true brawn, you need look no further than our captain and his fellows.”

Elrohir studied his reflection. He looked at Elladan who stared back at him in mingled amusement and exasperation. 

“Elbereth preserve me, I am lost!” he moaned. 

Elladan threw his arm around him consolingly. “You will find your way back,” he assured him. “Do you not recall my own folly six winters ago?”

Elrohir had to smile albeit feebly. “In an attempt to look older, you plaited your hair elaborately for the solstice celebration,” he murmured reminiscently. 

“Because I wanted to hurry him into seeing me in a different light," Elladan said. "Thank Eru Mother met us in the corridor ere we entered the Hall of Fire and counselled me not to hasten matters along. Can you imagine my humiliation had I proceeded thusly coiffed?”

“Well, I did warn you,” Elrohir pointed out, his smile widening. 

“That you did, but I was too besotted to listen to one of my own years.” Elladan continued earnestly. “I pray you will not make the same mistake. Heed me, brother, though I know little more than you.”

Elrohir sobered. “I am listening.”

“Then do not embark as I did on some outlandish endeavor to make yourself more desirable to him,” Elladan counselled. “You already are. Else he would have turned down your request when you made it for he is not one to give false hopes.”

A moment’s silence followed that statement. Elrohir turned to the mirror to consider his appearance once more. After a while, he reached behind his head and, gathering his raven hair, began to plait it. 

Understanding his intent, Elladan stepped behind him to help, securing the resulting single braid with a thin black riband. Elrohir did the same for him. 

The brethren regarded themselves and each other appraisingly. And smiled.

* * * *

Not a few were taken aback that night when the twins joined their parents in the dining hall for the evening meal. Many an Elf stopped in their tracks when the two entered the chamber, looking not quite the same yet not altogether different either. Even Elrond and Celebrían stared at their sons for a spell in wide-eyed silence, suddenly and acutely aware that these beauteous beings they had begotten were braving the road to full maturity and all the rewards and challenges that came with it.

“It is most fetching,” Celebrían finally said with an approving smile. “And I dare say suitable as well,” she dryly added, recalling all the times she had needed to battle the effects of hard play on her sons’ thick manes. 

The twins beamed happily at her but a moment later became conscious of their sire’s too long silence. They glanced at each other then focused their gazes on him. 

“Are you displeased, _Ada_?”—Papa—they chorused.

Elrond heard the uncertainty in their voices. They knew him. Knew what memory stayed his tongue. 

Once upon a time, so very long ago, he had stepped back from helping another attire himself for the journey to his new country, his new kingship and his new life.

Just so had Elros done his hair then, in the manner of the people he and his heirs would rule from thereon. In that moment, Elrond had truly felt the chasm that yawned between them. In that moment, he had felt utterly alone and lonely.

A hand gently clasped his and he met his wife’s gaze. The feeling of loneliness receded. He turned to his sons once more and was struck by how much he could now see of his brother in both of them. The remembrance of being alone faded as well.

“On the contrary, I am most pleased,” he warmly assured them. Casting a quick glance about and noting one surreptitiously rapt regard in particular, he suddenly grinned, the twinkle returning to his eyes. “But likely not more pleased than those for whom this becoming change is intended.”

*******************************  
Glossary:  
Narië – Quenya for the sixth month of the year, the period between 23 May and 21 June  
Eryn Galen – Greenwood the Great


	10. Appraisals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins accompany their parents on their first trip to the Woodland Realm in the north of Eryn Galen.

**Prompt: Sight**

Eryn Galen, _Cerveth_ T.A. 178  
“They come.”

Thranduil glanced at his son. Legolas’s eyes remained firmly on the approaching party of Elves though the latter was still nigh some five leagues away. 

The Elvenking willed the tension out of his body. This summer’s visit by Elrond and his family would reveal the extent of Legolas’s fascination with them. Or rather what had engaged that fascination in the first place.

Oh, the prince was no callow youth to betray himself so easily. Only one who knew him very well would have taken note of his greater than usual interest in the Peredhil following his sojourn in Imladris. 

He did not talk incessantly about them or champion their honor more ardently than his wont when someone spoke of them in less than respectful terms. But when he did mention them, the king noted a softening in his mien that bespoke far more than casual interest. And while he was not overly outspoken in their defense, his eyes would glitter with displeasure enough to persuade even the most obstreperous of Elves to temper their pronouncements. 

It was not as if Legolas had never been so chivalrous before or employed such methods to defuse potentially explosive situations. He once stood as his grandsire’s regent for seven years after all and during a time fraught with peril and uncertainty. 

Nay, it was not his conduct that told the king there was more to his affinity for the Peredhil than mere diplomacy. Rather it was the degree of it. 

They waited at the western outskirts of the vast forest that was called Greenwood the Great in the Common Tongue. Their realm lay some sixty leagues inward northeast of the mountains, on the very fringes of the woods nigh to The Long Lake that was fed by the Forest River that ran through the heart of the Silvan Elves’ kingdom. Not by the Old Forest Road did journeyers reach the Woodland Realm but by a little-known elven path that bypassed the mountains as it wound northward, broken only by the Enchanted River, which the Wood-elves crossed by ferry.

The riders rapidly covered the remaining distance to the forest edge, their elven steeds swifter than their lesser kindred in Middle-earth save perhaps for the wild horses of the North that were said to have been brought from the West by Oromë, the Huntsman of the Valar. Before long, they were close enough for Thranduil to see their features shadowed though they were by the hoods of their cloaks. 

He recognized Elrond easily. There was no mistaking Gil-galad’s former herald. Thranduil had fought alongside him on occasion during the War of the Last Alliance. Glorfindel, too, could not be missed. Taller than most Elves in these Hinter Lands, he was an imposing figure whose face and form one did not forget particularly after having witnessed him brutally cleave his way through a throng of foes. Erestor, however, the Elvenking knew only by reputation. But he guessed the slightly built Elf who rode behind Elrond to the right of Glorfindel was the much lauded chief counsellor. 

Now the last and only time he had seen Celebrían was when she and her parents briefly sojourned with him and his father Oropher. This was in the last age when Celeborn and Galadriel still lived in Eregion. Who would have thought the daughter of his kinsman would one day wed Elrond Half-elven? Or that she would present her lord with an elven rarity. 

Twin sons.

They rode at Elrond’s side. Tall for their age and showing traces of their father’s broader frame, they were passing fair, Thranduil had to admit. Fairer by far than any Elf he knew save perhaps his own son. 

He began to say something to Legolas but noticed how the latter was avidly staring at the approaching Elves. He followed the direction of that unrelenting gaze and realized it fell upon the brethren. The king wondered.

“Can you tell Elrond’s sons apart?” he idly inquired.

Legolas nodded, not taking his eyes off the twins. “The one right by Lord Elrond is the older, Elladan. The other is Elrohir.”

“How can you be certain when they look so alike and at this distance?”

The archer shrugged. “I cannot say, Father. I just ... know.” 

Thranduil pursed his lips. “You said you befriended one of them. I suppose ‘twas Elladan.”

“On the contrary, it was Elrohir.” 

The king frowned. _Odd._ The brethren were still very young. If any could claim to have enough in common with Legolas to surmount the great difference in age and experience between them, Thranduil would have expected it to be the son being groomed to govern Imladris after Elrond. 

“His company must have been quite pleasant for you to have spent much time with such a youngling,” he ventured.

Legolas glanced at him. “I enjoyed his company very much,” he readily owned. “He is forthright, intelligent and noble-hearted.” There was a brief pause before the archer softly added: “And he will be beauteous beyond compare when he is fully grown. They both will.”

Thranduil looked sharply at him. “Elrond will not be pleased to know you have designs on his son’s virtue,” he said.

A grin tugged at the corners of Legolas’s mouth. “Surely he would not fault me were his son to freely offer it and I accepted.”

The king’s frown deepened. “And did he offer it?” Legolas did not reply but only permitted himself a smile. Thranduil sighed. “Ah, well, that would certainly be a trophy worth crowing about,” he remarked.

Legolas’s smile faded and he looked once more at his sire. “Not a trophy, _aran nîn_ , but a priceless treasure.” His eyes gleamed darkly. “And one I do _not_ intend to share if I can help it.” Before Thranduil could respond, Legolas gestured toward the Imladrin party and said: “Should we not ride to meet them?”

Thranduil dealt him a severe look before urging his mount forward. His lips curled in a faint smirk, Legolas followed.

He waited patiently as his father exchanged greetings with Elrond and renewed his acquaintance with Celebrían and Glorfindel. Then Erestor was duly introduced as were Elrond’s sons.

They lowered their hoods in concert when Elrond presented them to the Elvenking, bowing their heads respectfully as they were named. Legolas’s eyes widened slightly upon first sight of the twins’ single braids. 

To say the fashion suited them was an egregious understatement. With their dark hair drawn back thusly, the sheer symmetry of their faces and nigh perfection of their features were pointed up with startling clarity. It seemed Eru had seen fit to bestow more than their fair share of beauty on these scions of blessed Eärendil even at this early date when they were still poised on the brink of maturity. 

In turn, Elrohir was watching his every move while striving not to be too obvious about it. But Legolas schooled himself to speak with Elrond and Celebrían with all due propriety and to warmly greet Elladan. When at last he turned his attention to Elrohir, the youth’s countenance brightened considerably.

“You have grown, _pen neth_ ”—young one—Legolas remarked. “I can scarcely believe my eyes. You are almost as tall as I.”

Elrohir could not be as composed. He nervously glanced at Elladan who had tactfully moved away and then looked at Legolas again, seeming at a loss for words now that he was in the archer’s presence. 

At length, he managed a smile and said, “‘Tis so good to see you again, Legolas, and sooner than I ever hoped for.”

From the corner of his eye, Thranduil saw his son’s entire demeanor gentle. He heard Legolas say, “Aye, your letters cheered me but they were no more than a poor substitute for your presence. I am pleased beyond words that you have come, Elrohir _nîn_.”

Elrohir was not the only one to react to that possessive address. Thranduil did not blush as the Elf-knight did but looked at his son in tacit reproach. Legolas nodded his acknowledgement but did not leaven his decidedly affectionate manner with the younger twin. 

Thranduil knew then without a shadow of a doubt that the question he sought to answer about his son’s conduct was not 'What?' but rather 'Who?'

**********************  
Glossary:  
Cerveth – Sindarin for the seventh month of the year, the period between 23 June and 22 July  
aran nîn – my king  
Elrohir nîn – my Elrohir


	11. Reacquaintance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrohir and Legolas renew their acquaintance after eleven years.

**Prompt: Strangers**

The brethren did their best to ignore the glances cast their way. None too friendly glances, or so they deemed, judging from the way the Wood-elves constantly regarded them askance.

“Have we grown horns and snouts that they look at us as if we belong in a menagerie?” Elrohir indignantly demanded.

Elladan shook his head and clapped a soothing hand on his twin’s shoulder. 

In an effort to curtail the annoying scrutiny to which they had been subjected since they set foot in the Woodland Realm three days past, the twins had taken to using the less traversed hallways. But there was no place that was absolutely devoid of Elves in the delved palace their royal hosts called home. And so, as they continued on their way to the dining hall, they could only stoically pretend not to notice the furtive regard of the passers-by they encountered. 

“We are strangers here,” Elladan reminded him. “I wager they have not had much to do with outsiders since the War of the Last Alliance. And even then, only those who marched to Mordor would have come into contact with the other tribes. I dare say we simply look a little different to them.” 

Elrohir snorted. “Understating the obvious, brother? We _are_ different, or have you not noticed that their scrutiny is limited to Father and us?” 

“I noticed,” Elladan conceded. 

His twin was right, of course. There was no mistaking the differences between them and the Silvan folk. These Wood-elves possessed a wild beauty and nigh ethereal lissomness that the tall and stately Eldar did not. The Peredhil’s earthier features and more compact frames set them even further apart. Consequently, the woodland folk observed them on the sly but did not approach them more closely than what common courtesy required. 

Elrohir stopped short of the door through which they would exit the corridor. Beyond was the main passage to the public chambers of the palace. There would be no evading the ill-concealed curiosity that would be directed at them. But for the moment, the Elf-knight was in no mood to be inspected as if he were some kickshaw with nothing more to him than his decidedly exotic appearance.

“What think you do they see when they look at us?” he scowled. “Brutish _adanedhil_ most likely with none of their elven grace and all the ungainliness of mannish striplings!”

“I am sorry you have been made to feel so unlovely, _pin nith_.”—young ones.

Elrohir would have jumped had a similarly startled Elladan not been gripping his shoulder. 

The twins sheepishly turned around to face Legolas. Elrohir in particular thought he would sooner have gladly cut off his tongue than be caught making such bilious utterances and by Legolas of all people. 

“I did not mean... That is…” Floundering, Elrohir turned pleading eyes to his twin.

But Elladan had seen what his smitten brother could not. He faintly smiled and said, “Elrohir did not intend to demean your folk.”

“I know he did not,” Legolas replied. He looked from Elladan to the still abashed Elf-knight. “Your parents wondered why you were taking so long.” 

“Oh! Let us hurry then, Elrohir.”

Elrohir took a step forward but Legolas unexpectedly barred his way.

“A favor, Elladan,” Legolas said, ignoring Elrohir’s questioning expression. “Would you mind going ahead? I would like a word with your brother.”

Elladan lifted his eyebrows in near mimicry of their venerable father. But then he grinned and, nodding in acquiescence, turned on his heel and left them. Elrohir stared after him in surprise.

“You think they deem you wanting in comeliness.”

The young Elf jerked about to face the archer, startled by the lack of preamble. He hesitated, then shrugged and said, “What else can I assume when they regard us thusly, then compound it with their aloofness?” When Legolas did not demur, he plunged on. “I swear I have not exchanged anything further than the most cursory of greetings with anyone here save you and your sire. I do not expect much more than civility from the members of your father’s court, Legolas, but, Valar, is it too much to ask that the others be a mite more companionable?” 

Legolas looked at him thoughtfully. He said, “The Greenwood folk sing your praises without stint, Elf-knight. But _this_ Wood-elf has suffered none to do more than admire you from afar. Thus have you failed to mark their appreciation of your beauty.” When Elrohir stared at him in astonishment, the prince added: “Why so surprised? You are without compare in this kingdom. And I am no different from your tutor who zealously guards your brother though he is so circumspect even Elladan does not realize it.”

“Then how do you know?” Elrohir stammered.

“Like circumstances, like minds,” Legolas pointed out.

Elrohir gaped at him then made to turn around, instinct impelling him to inform his twin immediately of the revelation. But Legolas caught his arm and spun him about. The movement caused him to lightly collide with the archer and land in his embrace, his face nigh pressed against his throat.

“Have a care, _rochen neth_ ”—my young stallion—Legolas chuckled. “And why the haste? There is time enough to tell Elladan later if you believe it absolutely necessary.”

Elrohir swallowed hard, acutely aware of the woodsy scent of his companion. Elbereth, he could get as drunk on it as he had on that treacherous Dorwinion fifteen years back! He tried to stifle a whimper. 

Fingers slipped under his chin and lifted it. Elrohir stared into searching eyes of deepest blue, praying he did not drown in them. He would never live it down should he faint from a mere gaze. An instant later, he was too shocked to think anything when soft lips pressed against his forehead. 

“Does your request still stand, Elf-knight?” Legolas murmured against the smooth flesh. 

Elrohir shuddered at the delicious contact. He could virtually hear the frantic tantivy-tantivy of his heart. He closed his eyes and drew what he hoped would be a calming breath.

“It does,” he shakily replied.

He was torn between relief and regret when Legolas drew away from him, releasing him from heady enthrallment. He opened his eyes to see the archer looking at him with an expression he could not identify. 

A small smile curved the archer’s lips. He placed a hand on Elrohir’s shoulder and gestured toward the door. 

“Let us proceed ere your sire suspects me of abducting you for some nefarious purpose,” he suggested, eyes alight with mirth. 

Elrohir nodded, regaining his composure with the return of Legolas’s familiar humor. 

“You would not be far off the mark,” he told the archer as they walked. “He recently said he would not set Elladan and me loose amongst mortal women until we reached our majority, for fear of a premature introduction to the ways of their kind.” He looked curiously at Legolas. “The ways of their kind… What do you think he meant by that? He refused to tell us though we badgered him about it.”

Legolas softly laughed. “No doubt he rued bringing the subject up in the first place,” he remarked. “I have heard that a good many amongst the mannish races do not always trouble to await the age of majority ere indulging themselves in the pleasures of the flesh. Unfortunately, most are ignorant of the traditions of other kindreds and would see little harm in seducing their youngsters if they could. You and your brother would be ... wildly irresistible to their womenfolk even with your tender years.”

Elrohir’s eyes had widened with the telling. When Legolas finished, all he could muster was a hushed: “I see.” At length, he shook his head and said, “There is so much I do not understand; so little that is clear to me.” He gazed at the prince. “You will teach me what I need to know, Legolas?” he asked.

Such sweet trust shone in the young Elf’s grey eyes that Legolas counted himself privileged indeed to have won it so utterly.

“I will teach you,” Legolas assured him. 

_And, Eru willing, much more besides._

**************************  
Glossary:  
kickshaw – a pretty but insubstantial trinket ( _archaic_ )  
adanedhil – man-Elves


	12. Intent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two father-and-son discussions yield converging conclusions even as paternal reactions diverge.

**Prompt: If**

They had not been meant to hear. 

A court counsellor had intercepted Legolas as he made his way along a side corridor toward his father’s study. He had taken the archer aside, speaking to him in the relative concealment of one of the reading alcoves that lined the hallways. 

Unfortunately, the very objects of the advisor’s concern had chosen that moment to take a shortcut to their quarters by way of the same corridor. Elladan and Elrohir could not help overhearing the less than amicable exchange that ensued. By the time the brethren’s presence was marked, they had gleaned the gist of the argument. Or rather confirmed their suspicions.

Legolas sighed and, with a baleful glare at the other Elf, turned his back on him and walked to the twins. The counsellor prudently held his tongue, schooled his expression and hurried off in the opposite direction.

“His opinion is his alone,” Legolas stated even before the advisor was out of earshot. “You are greatly admired by my people and they do not deem it unseemly of me to keep company with you.”

The twins glanced at each other. Elrohir said, “Mayhap that is true of the common folk. But not of some members of your father’s court. ‘Tis they who remain wary of us.”

Legolas frowned. “Has any dared treat you discourteously?” he demanded. “Tell me, for I will not permit any to demean you.”

Elrohir shook his head while Elladan spoke up. “None has demeaned us to our faces. But as to what they say behind our backs…” He shrugged. “We know there are not a few who do not welcome our presence here. Or should I say, Elrohir’s presence.”

Legolas gravely looked from one twin to the other. “I will not belittle your perceptiveness,” he said. “There is indeed some opposition to my proclivity for Elrohir’s company. But as ambition rather than altruism is the greater reason for their objections, I care little for their complaints.”

“But, Legolas—”

The archer gently pressed two fingers to Elrohir’s lips to still his protest. “I will take care of this annoyance as I see fit,” he murmured. “Think no more of it, Elf-knight.”

Smiling reassuringly, he brushed his thumb against Elrohir’s lower lip before he pulled his hand away. Sparing a warm smile for Elladan, he took his leave of the twins and strode off. 

Elladan looked at his brother. “What do you think?”

Elrohir kept his eyes on the archer until he disappeared from sight. “‘Tis most pleasing that he esteems me enough to defend our friendship,” he said. “But I would rather he did not embroil himself in this on my account. I do not care to bring trouble upon him or the king.”

“It does not seem to concern him very much,” Elladan commented.

“I dare say it does, but he will not show it to anyone,” Elrohir replied. “Least of all us.”

Troubled, Elrohir told Elladan he wished to speak with their parents and went on to their chamber where he found Elrond alone within. 

Unsure as to how to broach the matter, he gingerly posed probing questions until his sire finally held up a hand to halt the flow of inquiries and said: “What is it that bothers you so that you cannot come straight to the point, Elrohir?” 

He motioned to his younger son to sit beside him on the divan by the wide four-poster bed. Caught between embarrassment and relief, Elrohir obeyed. Settling himself, he recounted all he and Elladan had noticed and heard, ending with the disagreement between Legolas and the Silvan counsellor. 

Elrond frowned, more displeased with the veiled affronts to his son than any political discord resulting from his friendship with Legolas. The latter came with the territory after all and was only to be expected, but Elrond would suffer no excuse for impoliteness. He thoughtfully eyed Elrohir. The youth did not shy from his perusal, his usual equanimity restored for the moment with the confession of his troubles. 

“I have wondered how deep your affection for him runs,” Elrond remarked at last. “Would you care to confide the extent of it?”

Elrohir hesitated for a second or so. “I have asked him to be my first lover,” he admitted, forcing himself to meet his father’s gaze. When Elrond nodded encouragingly, he took heart. “And I would not mind if he were to eventually become the only one,” he softly finished. 

After considering the information, Elrond said: “Your mother and I have long suspected that you harbored more than feelings of friendship for him. But you were still so young and, though we knew it saddened you, we were relieved that you would be long separated from him if only to ascertain whether your feelings were lasting and if his intentions were true. Judging from the way he welcomed you and how he has doted on you since, despite the rumblings amongst his father’s nobles, it is quite clear Legolas sincerely cares for you.”

Elrohir brightened momentarily at his father’s words. “I am glad you think so, _Ada_. But that does not change the fact that our friendship, and whatever else may come of it, will likely cause him no small amount of grief. I do not wish that upon him. I would rather withdraw my request than have it become cause for dissent.”

“Would that ‘twas you who pursued him in full sight of all,” Elrond pointed out. “But ‘tis Legolas who chose not to hide your friendship or the possibility of it becoming something more. Do you understand why there is opposition in the first place?”

The younger twin nodded. “The Silvan nobles fear they will lose what influence they have at court should Legolas not take one of their own to mate.”

“An influence that can only grow were he to sire half-Silvan heirs as well,” Elrond added. “This need would not be so dire were it not for the greater power the few Sindar of this kingdom wield, thanks to their tribal kinship with the House of Oropher. I have oft wondered if either Oropher or Thranduil ever dangled the prospect of marriage with their sole unwed heir as a means of appeasement.” 

“Legolas told me his father encouraged him to dally with maids for the most part,” Elrohir said. “And that there is an expectation of another generation after him.”

“Then they did use it,” Elrond murmured. “Yet Legolas has displayed no qualms about keeping close company with you. Interesting.”

“What do you make of his actions then?” Elrohir anxiously queried. 

“He likely believes he can handle those who object to any liaison with you,” Elrond deduced. “Given his experience in this kingdom’s political affairs, he is probably right. Do not forget that he once stood as regent to his grandsire. In any case, this could establish the extent of his interest in you. If he does not permit the naysayers to deter him; if he seeks you out in spite of all their objections, that would mean his feelings for you go further than simple affection and desire. Would you not prefer that than to have your relations peter out once he has shorn you of your innocence?”

Elrohir colored slightly. “About that ... you do not mind, _Ada_?”

Elrond chuckled. “He is kind and noble and comely besides. Why should I object? And if you win yourself a woodland mate, your mother and I will deem it cause for much rejoicing.”

He opened his arms to his son. Elrohir gladly went into his embrace.

* * * *

Thranduil watched Legolas pour himself wine before sitting down in one of the two armchairs before the hearth in the royal study.

Choosing to forego a prolonged preamble, the Elvenking seated himself in the other and sternly said: “You have not acted as you told me you would. You assured me you would let it be believed that you have designs on Elrohir’s innocence, to explain your unwonted interest in him.”

The king had approved of the tactic whatever else he thought of Legolas’s closeness to the younger twin. It was something the Wood-elven nobles of his court would understand and even encourage, taking collective pride in the thought of their prince plucking the virginity of one as beauteous and high-born as Elrond’s son. 

Legolas set his goblet down on the small table between the chairs. He looked at his father and said, “I will wait until after the Peredhil’s visit. I do not want Elrohir to be present when I allow word of my 'intentions' to get around. Even if he is apprised of the truth beforehand, he will be wounded should he get wind of talk about my making a trophy of his virtue.” 

“You care overmuch for him,” Thranduil commented rather astringently.

“And if I do?”

“You are expected to wed and provide heirs, Legolas.”

“I know what is expected of me, _hîren_. Rest assured I will not dash those expectations and leave you to deal with the resulting mess.”

“Oh? Then what of your intentions toward the young Peredhel? ‘Tis quite obvious his heart is given and to whom. What will become of him when you break it and take a wife?”

“I will neither break his heart nor take a wife.”

“But you said—”

“That I would not dash their expectations. I simply will not bind myself to anyone until such time that the need for heirs is no longer imperative. Let them pin their hopes on my continued unmarried state if they wish. But whose company I keep in the meantime will be my concern alone.”

Thranduil regarded him with equal parts wonder and exasperation. 

“And think you he will wait for such a time? They are both very comely. Many will seek their hands in wedlock and soonest.”

“He will wait. As _Naneth_ waited for you.” 

Thranduil grimaced. “Verily, you are indeed my son,” he wryly commented. He then muttered, “I should have buggered Elrond when I had the chance. Mayhap he would then have foregone the company of females and not sired a son to beguile mine.”

Legolas stared at him. “Lord Elrond—and _you_?” 

Thranduil glared back at him. “During the last war, we kept company more often than in all our time in Lindon when your grandsire and I still lived south of the Lhûn,” he reluctantly explained. “There was one night, after a particularly brutal battle, that we commiserated with each other and proceeded to drown our grief in drink. It was then, when he was quite inebriated, that he confessed he had never lain with another _ellon_ , asked me if I had and what was it like and since we were likely going to get killed any day, would I care to show him.”

Legolas stifled a guffaw at the image conjured by his father. “So he offered you the chance? Why did you decline?”

“Aside from the fact that I was very much married?” Thranduil retorted, looking quite severely at him.

Legolas snorted. “Widowed,” he corrected. “ _And_ in the middle of a war which you thought you would not survive. Not to mention you were both grieving and lonely and drunk enough not to have been in full possession of all your wits. Else I cannot imagine Elrond propositioning you at all. So, why did you decline?”

Thranduil sighed. “Because I _did_ have a modicum of wit left and wildly attractive as he and his overture were, I could not forget that he was in love with Celeborn’s daughter.”

Legolas smirked. “Why, Father, I did not know you could be such a romantic.”

Thranduil bristled. “I simply did what was honorable,” he huffed. “Which I now heartily regret. For if Elrond is anything like his son, had I showed him then the delights of male companionship, he might have developed a propensity for it and thus foregone marriage with Celebrían, and there would not now be yet _another_ Peredhel to offer his virginal backside to a scion of our House!”

Such convoluted reasoning could only be met with the response Legolas made. But though he knew it, the Elvenking could not stop himself from scowling when his son slowly dissolved into shoulder-shaking laughter.

**************************  
Glossary:  
Ada – Papa  
Peredhil (sing. Peredhel) – Half-elves/Half-elven  
hîren – my lord  
Naneth – Mother  
bugger – to sodomize  
ellon – male Elf


	13. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Depending on its recipient, plain-spoken counsel can be either heartening or daunting.

**Prompt: Spade**

Imladris, _tuilë_ T.A. 179  
Elrohir sighed. Would he ever learn to tame his wayward feelings? Since the visit to the Woodland Realm in Eryn Galen the previous year, he had found himself even more beset by unpredictable changes of mood and the most embarrassing of bodily yearnings. 

Too often of late had he awakened from overly libidinal dreams and visions of a fair-haired archer who invariably teased him with his wicked smile before inveigling him into certain acts guaranteed to ensure the nocturnal emissions that left him hot-cheeked, shallow of breath and in dire need of a change of sleeping trousers unless he wished to pass the remainder of the night in damp discomfort. There were far more such nights than ones spent in peaceful slumber and Elrohir wondered whether he had stepped beyond the bounds of what was deemed normal.

He hesitated when, upon peeking into the study, it was Celebrían he saw seated behind Elrond’s stately desk. She was presently occupied in writing, occasionally consulting a thick stack of parchment at her elbow. Elrohir pursed his lips then turned to go.

“As your father is not here, will you not confide your troubles in me?”

Elrohir halted and sheepishly looked at his mother. Celebrían had set aside her work and now leaned back in her husband’s high-backed chair. She raised her eyebrows at him in an expression that was both inviting and chiding. 

The young Elf entered the study and sank into one of the two chairs that fronted the desk. “I did not mean to offend you, _Nana_ ”—Mama—he said. 

“I am sure you did not,” Celebrían said with a smile. “But it appears to me that you do not think me capable of helping with whatever ails you. Else why did you think to retreat when you saw ‘twas I and not your father seated here?”

Elrohir shook his head. “‘Tis not your wisdom I questioned. But I thought that you might not understand my worries being ... well, being female.”

His mother’s eyes gleamed with understanding. “May I assume then that you have been experiencing a surfeit of bodily needs?”

The Elf-knight gaped at her. “How-how did you know?” he blurted out.

Celebrían softly laughed. “Such feelings are not the province of _ellynNana_ , it comes to me almost nightly, this-this wanting. What can I do to stop it?”

“Stop it? You might as well ask a troll to take up embroidery to pass the time between meals!” Celebrían stroked his reddened cheeks with her other hand. “You cannot stop feeling thusly nor can you direct your dreams. And why should you fear it when ‘tis merely a mark of your continued growth as well as evidence of your deep regard for him?”

Elrohir bit his lip then gazed at his mother beseechingly. “Did Father or you…?” he asked. 

Celebrían dimpled. “I cannot speak for him but for myself, yea, there is much to tell. And much to blush about were I still a maid.”

“Why, what did you do?”

“From the moment I laid my eyes on your father, I fell head over heels in infatuation with him. I was still a few years short of my majority, but not too young to know a handsome Elf when I saw one. And such a splendid specimen of malehood your father was and still is. Ask your grandparents the next time we visit them just how close to madness I drove them with my incessant chatter about Elrond Ëarendilion,” she merrily said. “I warrant they will give you more than an earful! Ah, I can recall how even the mere mention of his name would reduce me to blushing and nigh endless giggling.”

Elrohir gawked at her in amazement. It was difficult to reconcile the image she painted of a gracelessly besotted maiden with the dignified mistress of Imladris that she was now. “You, _Nana_? You behaved thusly?” 

Celebrían nodded emphatically. “That I did. It was all I could do not to stutter some inanity in his presence. Or avoid swooning from the mere scent of him.” 

She chuckled at her son’s expression. He did not mind directness from others. Indeed he much preferred it when people did not call a spade by some other oft absurd name. But such bluntness coming from his mother was most unexpected. 

Celebrían sat back, fondly regarding her younger son. “So you see, ‘tis not something to be ashamed of save if one has no sense of humor about the whole business of growing up,” she said. “And, verily, you are more fortunate than most youths who know their hearts early on. Certainly, you are luckier than I was.”

“What do you mean?”

“You already know Legolas returns your interest. That is more than I had from your father for he only revealed his desire for me when I finally came of age. And even then, it was years before he formally sought my hand, busy as he was tending to his duties as Gil-galad’s herald and later, founding and building Imladris.” 

Listening to Celebrían’s recounting of her first brush with infatuation, Elrohir realized he had been unduly anxious. And he was indeed fortunate that the Elf he idolized did not spurn his clumsy overtures and even openly acknowledged a like regard for him. He rose to his feet, gratefully gazing at his mother.

“Thank you, _Nana_ ,” he murmured, bending down and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

* * * *

While the Elf-knight chose to pass their morning’s hour of leisure seeking elucidation, his twin elected to watch Glorfindel put his greenhorn warriors through their paces.

Elladan sat on one of the wooden benches scattered around the drill yard, eyes intent on the Elves who struggled to meet their captain’s admittedly high standards. Elrohir would one day take on the bulk of military command between the two of them and it behooved Elladan to see for himself what manner of warriors his brother would not only lead, but also rely on for his safety. 

After a while, he walked to Glorfindel who currently stood at the far end of the drill yard talking with a very young warrior. He intended to inform him of the rather erratic performances of certain of the neophytes. But as he approached him, he overheard the captain caution his companion not to commit himself to eternal union so soon. 

Elladan raised his eyebrows in surprise. Curiosity getting the better of his customary prudence, he waited for the Elf to return to the training ground then intercepted Glorfindel before the captain followed him. 

“How can I be of service, _hîr neth_?”—young lord—the golden-haired warrior asked with a small smile.

Elladan shook his head at the formal address. “Must you always greet me thusly, Glorfindel?” he remarked.

“If it will help accustom you to the deference you will one day be constantly accorded, yea, I must.”

The older twin sighed. “I am not looking forward to that day,” he admitted. “Formality and the upholding of it can be quite tiring at times.”

The captain looked at him sympathetically. “Thus must you dispense with it when you are with your dearest and most trusted ones, that you may alleviate the weight of rulership. But I do not think you approached me to discuss the duties and obligations of a leader, Elladan.”

Elladan nodded. “‘Twas what you said to Dirael,” he said. “You told him to desist from binding so soon, yet he is old enough to take a mate if he so wishes. Are you against early wedlock, Glorfindel? For if you are, I will own myself surprised since our kindred has long displayed a propensity for it.”

Glorfindel’s smile widened. He said: “I have nothing against early wedlock itself; only that those lacking in maturity should undertake it. It is imperative that an Elf be very certain of his choice of mate. After all, we wed for eternity and it would be a tragedy to discover that two are not suited to each other only after the vows have already been spoken. But such discernment entails a certain degree of maturity and not all Elves possess it as soon as they reach their majority. In any case, I do not believe marriage is the be-all and end-all of our lives. There is much that can content or fulfill us even should we delay wedlock or never wed at all.”

“Like you?” Elladan asked.

“I will not marry unless I know for certes that I have found the eternal owner of my heart,” Glorfindel replied. “And I am not the only one to choose thusly. Your own sire deferred marriage until he was absolutely certain he would forever love your mother. The same can be said of your grandparents for neither Celeborn nor Galadriel were young any longer when they bound to each other. Then there are my old comrades of Gondolin, Ecthelion and Duilin, and the venerable shipwright Círdan, and our very own Erestor; bachelors all and by choice.”

A thoughtful gleam lit his eyes and Elladan, about to speak, held his tongue.

“Erestor will likely never wed,” Glorfindel musingly commented. “He is so selective about everything; overly so I oft tell him. Even his companions he measures against his exacting standards and, thus, they are few and far in between. What more the mate to whom he would be bound forever?” The warrior shook his head. “He takes lovers, but I fear that is the farthest he will go.” 

Encouraged by Glorfindel’s candidness, Elladan opened his mouth to query further. But just then, Glorfindel was anxiously hailed by his warriors. One of them had been hurt while sparring and now knelt on the grassy ground, gritting his teeth against the pain of a dislocated shoulder. 

His healer’s instincts taking over, Elladan set aside his inquisitiveness and hurried after Glorfindel to give what aid he could before the injured Elf was conveyed to the healing halls by his fellows. Only after Glorfindel was gone did he recall that his last question had gone unvoiced. And it would likely go unanswered as well for, now that he realized how impertinent his inquiries must have seemed to Glorfindel, Elladan doubted he could be so bold as to broach the subject again to the captain. 

He headed back to the house, meeting Elrohir before he made the garden path.

“I wondered where you had taken yourself,” Elrohir said, falling into step with him. He gestured toward the drill yard. “You observed them?”

“Aye, and you? What were you about?”

“I had a most fascinating conversation with Mother. About my dreams.”

Elladan looked at his brother sharply. “Your dreams?” he repeated.

Elrohir nodded. “It was very enlightening. I never realized just how alike to us our parents were once upon a time. But never mind that for now. You looked rather disturbed about something. Would you care to share it with me?”

Elladan did not speak at once. When he did, he sounded quite downhearted.

“I talked with Glorfindel and learned something I had never expected. It troubled me,” he admitted. 

He proceeded to recount his discussion with the captain. When he finished, he said, “I do not know whether it is something I can surmount. What if I cannot?”

Elrohir shook his head. “You do not know if you will have to surmount anything. If his regard for you runs deep—and there has been evidence that it does; ‘tis only because you are Father's heir and not yet of age that he stays his hand—why, I imagine he will cast aside any habit that distresses you rather than force you to contend with it.”

His twin glanced sideways at him half hopefully, half skeptically. “Do you truly think so?”

“Would I say so if I did not?” Elrohir pointed out. He threw an arm around Elladan’s shoulders. “A fine pair we are, fretting over the whys and what ifs long ere they have begun to affect us enough to warrant seriously worrying about them!”

Elladan smiled ruefully. “Aye, you are right,” he said. He looked up and espied Erestor awaiting them on the porch. “Ah, we had best hurry. Erestor has no liking for tardiness.”

He quickened his steps and Elrohir followed suit. As they neared the counsellor, Elladan glanced back at his brother and said, “You must tell me what you and _Nana_ talked about. It sounds rather interesting.”

Elrohir slyly smiled. “Does your interest have aught to do with your recent practice of washing your nightwear yourself?” he murmured.

Elladan stopped in his tracks and stared at him. “How—?” He closed his mouth abruptly, aware that he had confirmed his brother’s contention.

“I could hardly miss them,” Elrohir told him. “You always leave them to dry on your balcony railing!”

Laughing, he sprinted the rest of the way, a sputtering, red-faced Elladan hot on his heels.

**********************  
Glossary:  
tuilë – Quenya for spring, approximately April to May  
ellyn – male Elves


	14. Hearsay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he encounters rough water, Elrohir decides he must learn to steer through it on his own.

**Prompt: Arrow**

Imladris, _lairë_ T.A. 187  
Green and brown. It seemed as if the ancient forest in the east had invaded the Last Homely House, judging from the number of woodland folk walking its hallways. Well, no, that was an exaggeration, Elrohir admitted to himself as he greeted one of said folk while on his way to the Hall of Fire. 

In truth, there were only a dozen and a half Greenwood Elves in residence in the valley and a third of them were billeted in the barracks. The remaining two thirds consisted of scribes, healers and a handful of Thranduil’s advisors who had been sent to Imladris for a season of cultural and intellectual exchange. Elrohir’s feeling that his home had been overrun with Wood-elves had more to do with the absence of the one Wood-elf who would have made the Silvan delegation’s advent most welcome to him. But as he had not come, then every Elf who had was one unwanted Elf too many. 

An irrational feeling, Elrohir knew, but he simply could not help himself and, thus, did not waste his energy trying to. 

Two years to go and he would finally know whether his wish would be granted. Two years and he would either learn that most vital of lessons or delay the learning while he sought another Elf he could trust enough to teach him. 

For all his broad hints of reciprocation of interest, Legolas had yet to declare once and for all that he would gift his acquiescence on Elrohir come his majority. He could still make a turnaround and rightfully say that he had never made up his mind about Elrohir’s request in the first place. 

This fear had not only lately come to Elrohir. Since their last meeting in Eryn Galen nine years ago, Legolas had not written him as frequently as he had prior to the Peredhil’s visit to the forest realm. And his letters had taken on a peculiarly formal tone. Not cool and secretive, but not very forthcoming either. 

The young Elf-knight slowed down a bit as he dwelt on the troubling thought. What had happened that Legolas seemed more reserved with him now of all times? When Elrohir was finally nearing the age when more than suggestive talk and cautious contact could take place between them? 

He looked up at the sound of many voices and saw that Lindir and his fellows were approaching from the opposite direction, lutes, flutes and harps in hand. With a start, he saw his parents and Elladan coming up just behind them with a few of their Silvan guests in tow. But they did not see him.

Of a sudden, Elrohir did not wish to join them. He was in a pensive mood this eve and was not certain he was up to the effort of hiding the fact. And they would notice it. Elladan especially would know. Elrohir did not care to have to account for his behavior to them. Not tonight.

He abruptly turned on his heel and hastened around the first corner before they spotted him. Whereupon he slammed into another Elf. 

While Elrohir managed to right himself, the other Elf landed on his rump on the floor. The twins had grown much in the last few years and not just in height and girth but also in heft. Small wonder the slighter Wood-elf could not withstand a collision with the younger twin even if he still had a few inches on him.

Elrohir hurriedly helped the other up, profusely apologizing as he did. Only when the Elf lifted his head after dusting himself off did he recognize him.

This was the counsellor who had confronted Legolas way back about his friendship with Elrohir. What was his name again? Beldulus? 

Elrohir had not known he was with the delegation. He and Elladan had only returned from a week-long scouting expedition with Glorfindel the afternoon before and thus had not been around to welcome Thranduil’s envoys.

Beldulus stared at him likewise in recognition. “Ah, ‘twas an accident,” he stiffly said, waving away his apologies. 

As he began to walk past Elrohir, he winced and gingerly rubbed his backside. At once, Elrohir took his arm and said: “You are hurt. Let me help you to the healing halls.”

Beldulus shook off his hand. “Nay, ‘tis probably little more than a bruise,” he dismissed. “I am perfectly able to get around, _hîr neth_.”—young lord. 

“Are you certain?”

“Quite.”

At a loss as to how to end their exchange on a more amicable note, Elrohir impulsively said, “I hope you are enjoying your visit to our fair valley.”

The counsellor stared at him in some surprise, then nodded and replied, “We are. Your sire is an excellent host.”

“As your king was to us years ago,” Elrohir replied, returning the compliment to his father. “I trust he is well?”

“He is,” Beldulus affirmed, unbending just the least bit. “The forest has been quiet of late.”

“And Legolas? How does he fare?” 

Beldulus's expression abruptly altered. All traces of congeniality fled to be replaced by a flinty glare. Elrohir started at the sudden change. 

“The prince is _very_ well,” Beldulus said with a touch of frostiness. He looked at Elrohir somewhat speculatively. “Indeed, the most avidly discussed topic these days are the wagers regarding his latest exploit.”

Something about the way the Elf uttered that last statement set off warning bells in Elrohir’s mind. “Wagers?” he repeated, daring to fish for more information.

The counsellor smirked. “That is correct. It seems he has been eyeing someone for many years,” he unexpectedly supplied. “I confess, it took many of us by surprise when we learned of it. But then our prince was not known for restraint in his youth and, while he has tempered some, it seems his predatory urges have not entirely vanished.” Seeing Elrohir’s growing uncertainty, he added just a tad snidely: “Of course, considering how unusual this Elf is, 'tis no wonder the prince set his sights on him. And so he bides his time, awaiting the young one’s coming of age ere he plucks him from the vine so to speak.”

Pain lanced through Elrohir as if he were struck in the heart with a bowman’s bolt. Legolas had been toying with him? He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat at the thought of having been little more than prey to the archer. And willing prey at that! 

He became aware that Beldulus was watching him closely, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. The counsellor was enjoying his discomfort, Elrohir realized, his ire flaring. Well, a pox on him! The younger twin struggled not to allow any more of his dismay to surface. 

With a monumental effort, he met Beldulus's gaze and coolly said: “That is interesting news, counsellor. Legolas will be most grateful to you for keeping us abreast of his latest endeavors.”

He took small comfort in Beldulus's sudden consternation. With a dip of his head, he left the Elf to his apprehensions and walked back the way he came. 

His first impulse was to hasten to the Hall of Fire and inform his parents and twin about what he had learned. But he swiftly reconsidered the move. 

They would automatically forbid him to continue keeping in touch with Legolas and that would end all chances of discovering the circumstances behind Beldulus's sordid tale. This Elrohir did not desire. For he still preferred to know the whole truth even if it deeply wounded him, than learn only a fraction and wonder evermore about the parts of the story left untold. 

He returned to his quarters instead to think the situation over.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he tried to make sense of his discovery. His thoughts collided and scattered in riotous disharmony for many agonizing minutes before he was able to corral them into some semblance of order. 

It seemed so out of character for Legolas to be open about his intentions if he truly meant to pursue such an ignoble course, he reasoned. Surely he knew word of it would get to Elrohir somehow and that would be the end of it. Perhaps there was more to this than Beldulus had said or knew. Besides, Elrond and Celebrían believed Legolas was sincere and Elrohir completely trusted his parents’ perceptiveness and judgment of character. 

A wave of lassitude washed over him, his seesawing emotions leaving him feeling drained and adrift. Crawling onto his bed, he decided to wait until the morrow ere taking action whatever that action may be. 

Sleep did not come easily, however, nor was it restful when it finally took him. His dreams were troubled though he could not remember them when he awakened before the crack of dawn. 

He sat up, his head throbbing from the lack of peaceful slumber. And his heart was no less burdened than it had been the night before. He placed his hand over his breast, as if feeling the verbal arrow still lodged therein. He rose from the bed and walked out onto the balcony. 

It was still very dark but the stars were no longer visible and wispy tendrils of light were beginning to streak across the firmament. He stepped back into his room, his eyes roaming aimlessly until they alighted on the writing desk. 

Elrohir stared at the desk, a course of action quickly forming in his mind. He would get nowhere ruminating over the dilemma by himself. He would have to take this figurative bull by its horns if he wished to resolve the problem to his satisfaction. Yea, even if it broke his heart and tainted his trust. 

A half hour and several discarded drafts later, he slid a folded sheet of parchment into a small leather case. This he fastened to the leg of the haggard that had borne witness to his correspondence with the woodland prince over the years. He watched as it took flight, soaring up toward the rose-tinged sky until it disappeared from his sight. 

The Elf-knight hunkered down to await the hawk’s return, faint hope barely staving off the threat of disillusionment and the sharp ache of first love under siege. 

*****************************  
lairë – Quenya for summer  
Eryn Galen – Greenwood the Great


	15. Misstep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it comes to matters of the heart, even a seasoned warrior prince can make erroneous choices.

**Prompt: Life**

Eryn Galen  
Legolas swore under his breath several times as he read the newly come letter. 

Only lately arrived after nigh eight weeks away making the rounds of the woodland realm’s outposts on its northern, western and southern bounds followed by a patrol of the eastern borders as he and his band made their way back to the Wood-elves’ kingdom, he was more than ready for a leisurely afternoon. But hardly had he emerged from a much longed for bath when someone knocked on his door. 

It was one of his personal attendants bearing the messenger haggard through which he dispatched letters to Imladris. 

He’d been delighted to receive a letter from Elrohir right on the heels of his return to his father’s halls. So much so that he did not take umbrage at the signs of tampering with the letter case; something which, in times past, had so befouled his mood that Elves scurried out of his way else they found themselves on the receiving end of one of his rare but fearsome outbursts. 

The case was tied shut and only one who knew how to "speak" to the slender lacing about it could undo the knot instead of hopelessly tangling it. In the very unlikely event that someone did manage the feat, tying it up again was another matter. For again, only one who knew how could properly seal the case. Either way, there could be no hiding an attempt to gain unlawful access to royal communications. 

The case was part of a set gifted on his father and him by their kinsman Celeborn and his Noldorin wife Galadriel upon Thranduil’s assumption of the woodland throne. Thranduil had asserted that it was likely Galadriel’s idea, claiming only a Noldo could take joy in such deviousness. 

But said deviousness had served Legolas well since the young Elf-knight’s visit to Greenwood the Great. He had taught Elrohir how to use the case before he returned home to ensure their exchanges remained secure and private. He did not discount the idea of ambition and resentment driving someone to the point of no longer caring whether or not he was caught tampering with correspondence not his. But neither was he about to make it easy for potential malfeasants. 

Hastily yanking on a shirt and breeches, he stalked out of his room and headed for his father’s study. The mere sight of his black expression was enough to ensure that the corridors he passed swiftly emptied of Elves. 

He burst in on Thranduil who was in the middle of a discussion with the palace butler. Galion knew his prince well enough to perceive what Legolas wanted without saying it. He took leave of Thranduil and left.

Thranduil frowned. Legolas was obviously in a stew over something. A dangerously simmering stew.

“What has you in such a state?” he inquired, eyeing his son curiously. 

“How did Beldulus come to be part of the delegation to Imladris?” Legolas demanded, surprising his father with his vehemence. “I drew up the list of who would go, as you commanded me, and he was not on it.”

“He was not,” Thranduil agreed. “But after you left, it occurred to me that Beldulus is much too insular for his own good and that he would benefit from a spell in a foreign realm under another Elf’s rule.”

Legolas’s scowl deepened. “I wish you had informed me of your decision, Father. I had my reasons for keeping Beldulus and others of his ilk here.” 

“Such as?” 

Legolas shoved something at him so closely, the king had to pull back his head to see what it was that had nearly collided with his nose. With a frown, he took the piece of parchment from his son and unfolded it. His eyes widened, then narrowed as he read the letter’s contents.

_Greetings, Legolas._

_I noticed you have been quite sparing with your last communications. I had hoped this was only due to your many obligations and neither you nor your sire have been beset by troubles. But something has come to my attention that has cast another light on your reticence with me._

Elrohir went on to recount his unfortunate encounter with Beldulus. He did so in a straightforward manner but with a sparse eloquence even the Elvenking’s most diplomatically-inclined scribes would be hard-pressed to match. Definitely a son of Elrond, Thranduil thought with grudging admiration. 

The youth refrained from florid language yet his hurt and bewilderment came across in every elegantly worded sentence. It was clear he harbored fears of less than respectful usage and desired clarity with regard to Legolas’s intentions. But so politely articulate was his letter that no word of reproach or demand was there to be read. 

By the time he was done reading, Thranduil’s esteem for the young Peredhel had risen considerably. As had his opinion of the Elf-knight’s suitability as partner to a forest prince. 

Thranduil looked up at his son when he was through. “You never apprised him of your plan?” he said a little incredulously. At Legolas’s part angry, part sheepish confirmation, he asked, “Why?”

The archer shook his head, spreading his hands in what appeared to be a gesture of helplessness. “When he bade me farewell last we parted, he reiterated his trust in me,” he said. “And also his belief in my kindness and nobility. I could not bring myself to besmirch his vision of me by revealing how capable I am of deception and underhanded dealings.”

The king regarded him with some astonishment before glancing at the missive once more. “And your ‘reticence’? Why did you turn miserly in your correspondence with him?”

Legolas sighed. “For the same reason. There was always a chance I would reveal however unwittingly what I was about. You know that has always been a failing of mine and your main reason for never entrusting crafty correspondence to me.” He hesitated then added: “I think you should know, there were attempts to unseal Elrohir’s first letters to me after his visit here.” 

Thranduil’s baleful mien bespoke his anger at the thought of any Wood-elf sinking so low. “The bindings on our letter cases resist tampering. Whatever else I might think of them, the Noldor are masters of such devices," he pointed out. "There is naught for you to fear from that quarter. Nor from Elrohir were you to inform him of your deception.”

Legolas ran his fingers through his hair a tad agitatedly. “And if he disapproves?” he questioned. “Or thinks me a lecherous rogue and chooses to break off ties with me? What then?”

The king was rendered speechless for a space by his son’s uncharacteristic lack of self-assurance. Not to mention his tortuous reasoning. 

“Legolas, your Elf-knight will understand that what you do is but a mere ploy,” Thranduil reasoned. “I hardly think he would deem you a cad for weaving an illusion to throw others off your trail. And even if his admiration for you falters somewhat, surely your repute can withstand a little tarnishing.””

“‘Tis not my repute I wish to protect but his innocence,” Legolas demurred. 

Thranduil stared at him. “You speak as if he were still the lad you last saw,” he said. “Yet in two years, that innocence you speak of will be much reduced and by no less than your very own self!”

Seeing Legolas’s stunned expression, the Elvenking sighed and rubbed his brow in some exasperation. “‘Tis a mark of your regard for him that you are so careful with him even to the point of absurdity. And yet, in your desire not to hurt him, you have actually helped bring it about.”

Legolas had recovered his composure but not his former confidence. “So I have,” he ruefully murmured. “Ah, what is wrong with me? I have never been craven even in the direst of times.”

“Nor have you ever given your heart before,” his father said. “Verily, you have allowed your feelings about someone to muddle your judgment,” he wryly remarked. “Nonetheless, I must point out that you do Elrohir a disservice by treating him as if he were still a child in need of sheltering. He is a scion of the House of the Mariner and Elrond’s son. ‘Tis guidance you should render him, not coddling. You cannot always protect him from life’s difficulties, but you can help him learn to protect himself.” 

Silence was his answer. For the longest while, Legolas stared at him, his eyes betraying a riotous mix of emotions. It was apparent that his attachment to Elrohir was far greater than even Legolas himself had realized for him to have allowed his feelings to get the better of his reason. For the first time in all his long years. 

He wondered if young Elladan’s suitor had also been similarly stricken. Oh yes, Thranduil had not missed the possessive scrutiny that had followed the older twin about either, carefully veiled though it had been. It seemed Elrond had sired a pair of spellbinders. 

“Beguilement is an egregious understatement,” he muttered in resignation. “More like bewitchment.”

Legolas heard and wanly smiled. “It would seem so, given the extent to which I have willingly permitted myself to be driven to secure my claim on him.” He regarded his father musingly. “Have you ever regretted sending me to Imladris that summer?”

Thranduil snorted. “You would have met him sooner or later and I doubt the outcome would have been any different. He draws you as no other has. And you likely owned him from your first words onward.” He handed the letter back to Legolas. “Speaking of words, you had best set some down in writing and soonest. It would be the height of folly to lose what you have thus far gained for lack of a proper reply. And _that_ I cannot accept from an Elf of our House!”

Thanking his sire for his counsel, Legolas returned to his quarters. Sitting himself at his writing desk, he read Elrohir’s letter once more. For a long while, he thought about what he could say to assuage the youth’s hurt. 

The time for dissimulation was over. Indeed, there had never been a need for it save in his own misguided imaginings. He hoped Elrohir would understand his reasons and forgive him for the confusion and anxiety his silence has caused him. 

He picked up a quill, sharpened its tip and dipped it into the inkwell. With the Elf-knight’s fair countenance in mind, he began to write.


	16. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The resumption of Elrohir’s trust in Legolas hangs in the balance.

**Prompt: Fixed**

Imladris  
The twins were on their way back to their quarters after archery practice when the retainer found them. 

“Your messenger hawk has arrived bearing a letter,” he said to Elrohir. “But the falconers cannot approach it for a strange falcon guards it and refuses to let them near.”

The brethren glanced at each other in puzzlement. “Guards it?” Elrohir repeated as he and Elladan switched directions and headed for the mews instead. “How so?”

“It threatens to attack whenever they try to get close to the haggard,” the Elf explained. “Not even Herion managed to appease it.”

That was news indeed that any bird of prey should resist Elrond’s head falconer. The twins quickened their strides.

The mews were located behind the house, separated by a patch of lawn. But Elladan and Elrohir discovered there was no need to enter the small building that housed their family’s winged hunters. The haggard and its protective companion were perched on the boundary fence of the weathering yard beside the mews. Herion and his assistants were gathered in the yard, keeping a decent distance from the birds. There was a ragged tear in the head falconer’s sleeve.

Elrohir peered at the smaller raptor, a frown creasing his brow. “Where have I seen this falcon before?” he muttered. A moment later, he caught his breath and gasped, “Elbereth! It is Legolas’s hunting bird!”

Elladan stared at him. “Are you sure?” he asked, glancing at the brown-feathered creature.

“Very sure,” Elrohir said. He began to walk toward the pair. 

Herion caught him by the shoulder. “Be careful, young master,” he cautioned. “It can do you great injury.”

“It will not hurt me,” Elrohir assured him. 

He lifted his hand to the falcon invitingly. To the others’ amazement, the bird flew straightly to him and almost daintily landed on his forearm, talons only loosely gripping him to keep from injuring his unprotected arm. 

“It has been long since we last met, my friend,” Elrohir soothingly murmured to the creature. It responded by bating its feathers lightly then settling comfortably once more. Elrohir smiled and said, “What does your cousin bear that Legolas deemed in need of your vigilance?”

As he spoke, he walked to the haggard. Allowing the falcon to perch once more on the fence, he removed the message case from the hawk’s leg. The falcon made nary a move or sound of protest.

Elrohir motioned to Herion to come closer. When the Elf warily approached, he said: “Take good care of them. And do not fear. This one will not harm you now that its mission is done.”

Having seen to the birds’ care, he hastened back to his room, pulling Elladan along. The older twin looked at him curiously, noting his pensive expression.

“Are you certain you wish for me to know what he has to say?” he asked. “You did not even want to tell me what Beldulus claimed for fear of prejudicing me against Legolas.”

“I am certain,” Elrohir answered. “If his reply disappoints me, I will have need of your comfort. But if it does not, then I would have you know soonest that you may discard whatever hard feelings you nurse against him.”

Elladan sighed as they entered his brother’s room. “It will not be so simple as that,” he said. “You were hurt due to his failure to tell you what he was about. The reason for his silence will have to be very good indeed!” 

Elrohir beamed gratefully at him. He got into his bed and scooted up to lean against the headboard. Elladan sat facing him, legs folded and arms resting on them. 

He waited expectantly as his brother unsealed the case and took out the missive within. The crackling sound of crisp parchment being unfolded seemed loud in the silent chamber. Elrohir glanced at his twin before he began to read the letter.

_My Elrohir,_

_You are doubtless surprised by the manner of this letter’s delivery. It was to ensure that you alone would receive it for there is much I have to say that would cause no small amount of trouble for us were the wrong folk to know of it. Not that I would permit anyone to bar my way but I did not wish to expose you to the petty machinations of those who fear to lose their places in my father’s kingdom._

_Ere I begin, I must apologize for hurting you. I did not realize until late that my reticence was doing you more harm than good. But know my intentions were otherwise. I longed to spare you the sordid details of the ill will of a benighted few against you, as well as maintain the secrecy of our pact. Unfortunately, I tend to be incautious when I set my thoughts down on paper, a failing my father knows of and for which reason he refrains from having me execute documents that require utmost discretion._

Elrohir looked up at Elladan, his surprise mirrored in his brother’s face. He shook his head and continued reading.

_Beldulus was not supposed to be part of the delegation. I drew up the list of who would go and chose only Elves who are loyal to me and, therefore, predisposed to be amiable toward you. But I left on an extended tour of our outposts that kept me away for nigh two months and, in that time, Father decided to include Beldulus in the party in the hope that, by spending a length of time under your sire’s rule, he would learn to be less insular in his ways. I only discovered this change when I returned and read your letter._

_It is indeed the talk in my father’s court that my kindness to you is no more than a ploy to gain your affection and thus win your trust enough to demand the privilege of deflowering you. I have not refuted this and I confess to you now that it was I who instigated the rumor and allowed it to spread._

Elrohir could not help faltering to a stop at this point. He lowered his head and bit his suddenly trembling lip, feeling as if his heart would burst. He vaguely felt Elladan's hand on his knee, gripping it tightly. Swallowing hard, he raised his head and gazed beseechingly at his twin, seeking the courage to continue.

“Surely he had good reason,” Elladan murmured.

Elrohir nodded and forced himself to continue. 

_My demeanor toward you was never a ploy, my Elf-knight. But the rumor I spread is. I think you have guessed that the Silvan nobles had hoped to secure their place through a union between me and one of theirs, an ambition they had all but deemed realized since there are no eligible Elves amongst our Sindarin populace. Needless to say, our friendship threatened that hope and they did not hesitate to make their displeasure known._

_Father does not fear a popular uprising against us for the common folk love and respect him and he has always had their full support. But any dissent can be perilous to us as a whole. The Elves of this realm have survived through the years because of their gallant hearts and nigh unbreakable solidarity. Discontent and frustration amongst their numbers however minimal can endanger us in that they can breed grudges and less than noble intentions. Even treacherous ones. Father and I can contain any mischief ere it becomes a menace to the kingdom. But to even have to do so would expose the presence of a rift at court and that in turn would serve to demoralize the others. Neither of us cares to test our people in sudden adversity when their mettle has been compromised even the least bit._

_I thought it best to divert them from examining my interest in you too closely and at the same time salve something of their pride which took a blow when I paid more attention to you than they have ever seen me lavish on any of their own children. Most have since taken collective pride in the notion of a mere Wood-elf plucking the innocence of one of Elrond’s sons. A very few are not so easily convinced and are no doubt responsible for the occasional attempts to tamper with our missives. However, my caution was not due to fear that they would succeed in gaining access to our correspondence._

_Foolish as it may sound, I kept my silence because I did not want your regard for me to suffer. I feared you would be disillusioned with me once you learned how capable I am of skullduggery when in pursuit of a desire and disgusted as well by the sordid effects of my scheme. I could not bear the thought that you might dispense with our friendship forthwith, not to mention rescind your request due to the current circumstances._

_I cannot lie. I have avidly looked forward to that day since you made your request of me. But it was never the claiming of your first bedding alone that mattered. I saw it as another means to bind you closer to me. For so intimate an act, when undertaken with another dear to one’s heart, becomes the outward expression of that affection rather than a mere coupling of bodies._

Elrohir halted once more, the frank mention of what could come of his request causing a funny flutter in the pit of his stomach. He glanced with some embarrassment at Elladan but his brother smiled understandingly and gestured to him to continue.

_Dearest one, you did not make your request with the fulfillment of an arcane ritual or the expansion of your education in mind, but because you trusted that I would see you through that event with all the care, affection and respect you deserve. I pray that trust has not been shaken and that you will still welcome me into your presence come your majority. I promise you, I will see to your needs to the utmost of my abilities and mayhap win myself more than a first taste of your graces._

_Again, I ask your forgiveness and fervently hope that I may still deem you my own Elrohir._

_At your service,  
Legolas_

Elladan stifled a chuckle at the sight of his brother’s crimson cheeks. He wondered if Elrohir now regretted sharing Legolas’s letter with him. For there was no denying that the Elf-knight had just received his first real love letter.

“Now _that_ is what I call an explanation,” he finally quipped. “Are you appeased, brother?”

Elrohir looked at him, eyes shining in elation though his cheeks continued to burn. “And you?” he countered.

Elladan smirked. “‘Tis what you think that matters,” he said. “But, yea, I am. And obviously, so are you.” He regarded his twin as the latter dropped his eyes to the letter once more. Savoring ever word written in Legolas’s bold hand no doubt. “He feared you would be put off by his scheme. I assume you are not.”

The younger twin shook his head. “I am dismayed that he thought me so quick to judge him that he did not apprise me of it. But then, last he saw us, we were only mere lads and still quite sheltered. Small wonder he worried that I might not understand.”

Elladan snorted humorously. “And you are just as quick to defend him,” he teased.

Elrohir almost stuck his tongue out at him then thought better of it and nudged his brother’s leg with his foot instead. He rose from the bed and headed for his writing desk. Elladan rolled his eyes and got to his feet as well.

“Really, Elrohir, I am sure Legolas will not mind waiting a few days for your reply,” he pointed out.

“But I cannot wait a few days to make it,” Elrohir replied as he seated himself at the table. He half turned to look at Elladan. “Thank you for staying by me through this,” he said. “I would have been lost without your company.” 

“Which you do not need at the moment,” Elladan retorted good-naturedly. He strolled to the door. “Give my regards to Legolas. But warn him he had better behave himself if he hopes to be of any use to you.”

Elrohir laughed softly as his brother departed. He turned back to the desk and took out a sheet of parchment. Before long, the sharp scent of ink permeated the air.

* * * *

_Elladan sends you his regards. But he also instructed me to tell you to behave yourself if you hope to be of any use to me. Those were his exact words and I suggest you heed them for Elladan is not one to make idle threats._

Legolas chuckled ruefully at the warning. Reserved, ever politic Elladan could be most acerbic and blunt when it came to ensuring his brother’s well-being. He sighed and went on reading. 

Elrohir’s letter had begun with his customary recounting of events in Imladris, including news of the woodland party’s activities thus far, as well as his and Elladan’s latest accomplishments under Erestor and Glorfindel’s guidance. He referred to Legolas’s explanation briefly, saying only that he regretted their lengthy separation and that he understood the archer’s reasons for acting as he had. 

Legolas would have liked a more explicit declaration of forgiveness but appreciated Elrohir’s caution nonetheless. After all, if there were any who would take inordinate interest in their communications, they were here in Eryn Galen. Best not to take the chance, however unlikely, that some fool of an Elf might force the letter case open and discover the truth of their relationship. 

Coming to the last paragraph, however, he suddenly sat up straight. He all but held his breath as he carefully read the passage. 

_With regard to your inquiry, I would indeed appreciate it were you to instruct me until I have learned my lessons well. I hope your difficulties will be resolved to your satisfaction soonest that I may partake of your able tutelage once again._

_May the light of blessed Elbereth shine upon you always._

_Yours truly,  
Elrohir _

Legolas blew his breath out. He leaned back in his chair and, closing his eyes, took a moment to enjoy his relief. 

There was no need for a more overt expression of forgiveness. Elrohir’s discreet affirmation of their pact said everything. After a while, he read the letter once more, relishing the renewed sense of closeness his opening up to Elrohir had fostered. 

As he read, an image of Elrohir unfolded in his mind. He saw the young Elf-knight he remembered as the adult he would surely become: perilously beautiful of countenance, inordinately tall as the Elves and just as lean of frame, yet possessed of a solidity that could only serve to imbue him with an allure that was singularly Peredhil.

Legolas’s intermittent pangs of craving bloomed into an aching lust to have that glorious form spread beneath him, yielding to the archer with all the sweet wantonness of an innocent learning the ways of the flesh. 

He wryly smiled as he considered that his scheme was not altogether a ruse. That Elrohir’s virtue was his for the taking had not been entirely due to the younger twin’s wishes alone. Legolas could not deny to himself that he had encouraged Elrohir’s infatuation or that he had engaged in a long-drawn, subtle seduction of Elrond’s son. 

But as he had earlier declared, the claiming of Elrohir’s innocence alone was not enough for him. Verily, it could never be enough once he had been bewitched, as his father asserted, by the considerable charms of Rivendell's incomparable Elf-knight.


	17. Quandary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins come of age at last and a long awaited promise nears fulfillment.

**Prompt: Birthday**

Imladris, _Yavannië_ T.A. 189  
The twins’ fiftieth begetting day dawned on a valley rife with the anticipation of revelry and joy. Two ages of the world had gone by since the last majority celebration of a scion of the lines of the Elvenkings of old: venerable Elu Thingol of Doriath, sage Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor, and valiant Turgon of Gondolin. Was it any wonder that all elvendom and members of the House of Elros had marked the day’s significance?

The Last Homely House teemed with representatives from every extant elven realm left in Middle-earth as well as the Peredhil’s royal kin of Arnor. King Valandil himself had come, as had his wife and children foremost of whom was the heir apparent, Prince Eldacar. 

They mingled with Círdan of the Havens and a number of his mariners, Amroth of Lothlórien and many folk of the Wandering Companies led by Gildor Inglorion. Of even more import to the brethren was the presence of their mother’s parents Celeborn and Galadriel of whom they were very fond but did not see as often as they desired. 

But no delegate from the woodland realm of Eryn Galen had yet arrived and this was cause for concern for at least one twin. Though he was savvy enough not to reveal said concern when in the presence of others outside of his family, there was no denying that Elrohir was not in the highest of spirits for so momentous an event. 

Given the reason for the day’s excitement, most of the conversations centered on the festivities planned for the evening and abated little when the bells chimed to summon everyone to the midday meal. 

Celebrian’s impeccably beautiful garden was being turned into a veritable wonderland of torch-lit pathways, lantern-hung spaces and garlanded pavilions, tables and benches. The meats for the feast were already slowly cooking on their spits, their delectable aromas discernable to any who ventured near the outdoor pits by the kitchens. And every minstrel in residence had composed at least one song each with which to serenade the celebrants and their guests through the night.

Elladan and Elrohir found themselves at table with their royal kinsfolk. Valandil and his queen sat with Elrond and his wife and law-parents, their discussion covering a wide range of topics from the sublime to the mundane. The twins, on the other hand, were grouped with the Dúnedain princes and princesses. Glorfindel and Erestor prudently joined them to guide or temper any exchanges should the need arise. 

By meal’s end, Elladan was embroiled in a debate regarding the not always aboveboard politicking at the Arnorian court. Not so Elrohir who faced a crown prince whose interest at the moment lay more in the twins’ upcoming majority celebration than in the goings-on of his father’s kingdom. 

“I have heard that you hold in your treasury the original trysting cup of the royal house of Númenor,” he assayed. 

“We do,” Elrohir replied. “Elendil spirited it away along with other ancient treasures when the Faithful forsook Armenelos and withdrew to Rómenna. He shared his father’s fear that calamity would overtake Númenor before too long and hoped to preserve something of his family’s heritage.”

“I have oft wondered how he managed so audacious a theft of royal property,” Eldacar mused.

“Ar-Pharazôn was not alone in employing spies to ferret out the secrets of the Elendili," Elrohir pointed out. "Lord Amandil also had agents sown amongst the royal household even unto the ranks of the King’s Men. They aided Elendil in his venture."

Eldacar considered the information with a small smile. “Strange that my foresire shared that story with your father yet kept it from his own sons.”

Elrohir grinned. “Perhaps he did not wish to encourage them to embark on a similar course of noble-minded thievery,” he suggested.

The prince snorted. “Little good did his secrecy do him then, considering that my grandfather dared to sneak into the courts of Armenelos and steal a fruit off Nimloth’s branches!”

They both laughed at this evidence of the reckless streak Elendil and Isildur had apparently shared. 

“I have also heard that your father expects you and your brother to carry out our first night rite this eve,” Eldacar continued after their mirth subsided. “Is this truth or mere rumor?”

Elrohir shook his head. “Father does not expect it of us,” he clarified. “He only gave us the option to observe it if we are so inclined.”

“And are you?” Eldacar quizzed him. “Or perhaps, more to the point, _can_ you?” At Elrohir’s perplexed expression, he added: “Forgive me if I am being too forward for your taste, but I noticed a dearth of eligible Elf-females amongst this assemblage. I wondered if there were any for you to choose from that I have simply not marked.”

“You are correct, there are none amongst our women who are free for such a purpose,” Elrohir said. “But the same cannot be said for the male-folk and we are free to choose from their ranks if we wish.”

“Then you _are_ so inclined,” the prince remarked. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the tabletop, eyes alight with interest. 

Elrohir hesitated, unsure whether Eldacar was referring to his proclivity for the male of the species or his perceived desire to observe the rite. He opted for the latter though the former was not at all improbable. After all, the Dúnedain had no prejudices with regard to like gender relations so long as they did not get in the way of siring progeny and the perpetuation of their race. 

“Elladan is not,” he said. “He deems himself still unready for bodily intimacy. But even were he not, he would still balk at the public nature of it all.”

“But what of you?” Eldacar queried. “Are you opposed to our ancient tradition?”

“I am not opposed to it.”

“Then you are of a mind to observe it this eve?”

Elrohir shrugged. “If my choice desires it as well.”

“Desires it?” the prince repeated in puzzlement. “What does that have to do with a royal prerogative? One need only be willing to do one’s duty. Indeed, ‘tis unheard of to spurn a prince’s suit. To be chosen is counted a great honor amongst us and there are not a few who do not leave the matter to chance but actively pursue it.” 

The bald assertion reduced Elrohir to momentary muteness. Aware of the younger twin’s slight disconcertment, Erestor smoothly intervened from beside the prince. “‘Tis a great honor indeed, Highness,” he agreed. “But it is not our way for the simple reason that we were made to relinquish life should we be forced into unwanted intimacy.”

“Ah, but of course,” Eldacar conceded. “Yet I cannot conceive of anyone refusing to take first night rites with one as beauteous as my kinsman here.” Before Erestor could respond, he looked at Elrohir and added with a smile: “If there are none amongst your folk who are willing, rest assured you need not choose from them alone.”

Elrohir caught his breath at the tacit invitation to look to the Dúnedain for his partner. It seemed he had implied anybody would do so long as he or she did not object. About to amend Eldacar’s assumption, he realized the prince was regarding him with much more than mere admiration. 

Nay, Eldacar was not suggesting that Elrohir pick from among the Men of Arnor. Rather he was offering his own services. Elrohir found himself at a loss for words. 

He had expected speculation about his and Elladan’s plans for the night. But not once had he thought anyone would actually make an overture. He regarded his royal kinsman with equal parts astonishment and curiosity. 

The Man was handsome, that went without saying. He had also likely experienced more than his fair share of bedding innocents. And he certainly was no laggard in seduction. Even now, he was exerting the subtlest of pressure, allowing Elrohir to see how much he appreciated his charms and making it quite clear that he would not mind being the Elf-knight’s choice of companion for the night. 

Elrohir would have had to be made of stone not to react in some way to the subtle importuning. His cheeks heated up with the beginnings of a full-blown blush.

Eldacar shook his head. “By Eru, you could tempt the Powers themselves, cousin,” he huskily remarked. “All the more do I hope that you will permit me to guide you this eve.”

The implication of his statement could not be mistaken. Dismayed, Elrohir glanced at Erestor for help. But the counsellor slightly shook his head. As Eldacar’s suggestion had been directly addressed to him, Elrohir would have to respond to it himself. 

“There is always the chance I will prove too craven to actually carry it out,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I do not care to blunder my way through the rite in front of everyone.” 

Eldacar chuckled. “Oh, you need not follow every step to the last exact detail,” he replied, his smile widening. “‘Tis the intent that counts. All else can be subject to interpretation.”

Elrohir stifled a sigh. His attempt at ambiguity had been taken as affirmation instead. Anxious not to embarrass either Eldacar or himself, he floundered for a diplomatic reply.

“It will be interesting to see how you carry out your interpretation of the rite then.”

For a moment, Elrohir thought his heart would stop. Even did he not know that voice, he would have identified the speaker from his scent alone. He swiftly rose to his feet, turning as he did, mouth curving into a delighted smile.

“You are here at last!” he softly exclaimed.

Legolas’s eyes swept over him in swift appraisal. But his questioning glance at the Arnorian prince alerted Elrohir to the fact that he had overheard their exchange even before the archer dryly voiced it. 

“And not a moment too soon it seems.” 

********************************  
Glossary:  
Yavannië – ninth month of the year; approximately the period between 22 August and 20 September  
Armenelos – capital city of Númenor  
Rómenna – city in the east of Númenor where the Elendili were forced to reside  
Elendili – ‘Elf-friends’; also known as the Faithful, the party of Númenoreans who opposed the severance of relations with the Eldar and rebellion against the Valar  
Ar-Pharazôn – last king of Númenor whose attempt to invade Valinor led to the destruction of the Land of the Star  
Nimloth – the White Tree in the Courts of Armenelos that was descended from Galathilion, the White Tree of Tirion in Eldamar


	18. Intimation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fulfillment of an old request comes ever nearer to realization.

**Prompt: Drink**

If there ever was a spot that Elrohir might deem tight, he was in it. He glanced nervously from Legolas to Eldacar, wondering what the archer had made of his conversation with the Dúnadan prince. He was pointedly sizing up Eldacar and, not surprisingly, Eldacar was doing the same though perhaps not as openly. 

To the Elf-knight’s relief, the others at table converged on them to welcome the archer. Elladan and Glorfindel and Erestor and also his parents and grandparents, with Celeborn asking after his kinsman Thranduil. And once he had greeted Legolas, Elrond naturally made the proper introductions between the woodland prince and the Arnorian rulers and their children. 

Saved for the moment, Elrohir tried to think of how to best allay Legolas’s suspicions regarding Eldacar’s overtures. But he was distracted by how utterly splendid the archer looked though he was still clad in hardy traveller’s raiment. The very simplicity of his attire served to point up his withy strength and wild Wood-elven beauty. 

Merciful Eru, how much more comely would he appear come the night’s festivities?

Someone clapped him on the shoulder. Startled, he stared at Eldacar as the latter came to stand at his side, regarding him with wry amusement. The Man glanced at Legolas then looked at him again.

“‘Tis he you hope to take the first night rite with, isn’t he?” Eldacar queried rhetorically. When Elrohir shyly nodded, the prince smiled and, leaning close, murmured: “I laud your taste, cousin, and concede this round. But if he fails to satisfy you, rest assured I will be most willing to remedy your discontent.”

This last he said a mite more loudly than necessary. Alarmed, Elrohir sharply turned his head and found Legolas watching him with a smile that did not reach his eyes. He inwardly groaned and wondered if any would mind if he kneed his mischievous kinsman in the groin or a similarly sensitive region. 

Eldacar dipped his head to the archer and walked away to join some comrades at another table.

“Do enlighten me as to how many more I must compete with for your favors,” Legolas coolly inquired, his eyes sliding from the flustered youth to the departing Man. 

“There are no others!” Elrohir protested, barely keeping his voice down. “Surely you do not think I would entertain other suits.”

Dark gold eyebrows rose questioningly. “Even if I am late enough to give you cause to wonder about my intentions?”

Elrohir stared at him, mouth agape in astonishment. “Well, why _are_ you late?” he retorted a little tartly, brows knitted together in rising umbrage.

The archer shook his head and explained: “I led an expedition to destroy a colony of spiders that had nested too close to our kingdom. I could not leave such a vital mission to others for the sake of an early appearance here. That would have prematurely revealed my true priorities to everyone.”

All traces of budding ire vanishing in an instant, Elrohir gasped and, catching the Wood-elf’s hands in his, anxiously demanded: “Are you well, Legolas? You were not injured, were you? Forgive me for thinking ill of you!”

Legolas chuckled and, slipping his hands out of Elrohir’s grip to clasp his between his palms in turn, said, “Nay, forgive me for mistrusting you when ‘tis I who gave you greater cause to doubt me. I am well, my Elf-knight, and looking forward to celebrating what is left of this auspicious day with you.” He glanced in Eldacar’s direction, his eyes glittering just this side of frostily. “Rest assured I will do my utmost to content you enough not to need remedying of anything.”

Elrohir’s face bloomed with color. “He was only teasing me,” he murmured.

“Not as much as he was baiting me,” Legolas snorted. “Well, he may bait me all he wishes. It is paltry recompense for losing the good fortune of sharing the coming night with you.”

An inarticulate imprecation escaped Elrohir and he averted his eyes, painfully aware of a growing discomfort down yonder. “Please, Legolas, there is still the afternoon and this eve to bear through,” he muttered. “Is it too much to ask that I do so with some ease?”

Legolas softly laughed. “Forgive me, sweet one,” he said. Releasing Elrohir’s hands, he swiftly scanned the hall. “Ah, I wish to have a word with Gildor. I desire to hear of news from abroad,” he hastily added upon espying an ominous gleam in the younger twin’s eyes.

Elrohir grinned impishly. “Never fear, I shall accompany you and make sure that Gildor stays on topic,” he quipped. 

The archer rolled his eyes. Taking Elrohir by the elbow, he led the way to where Gildor was seated with Círdan of the Havens. Now there was another Elf Legolas wished to acquaint himself with if only to ascertain whether his sire’s opinion of the renowned shipwright was correct.

* * * *

The stars shone brightly that evening as if in planned concert with the blazing torches and glowing lanterns that lit the spacious garden of the Last Homely House. Or perhaps they hearkened to the hallowed Mariner who watched his grandsons mark their coming of age from up on high. Whatever the cause, the firmament seemed far more brilliant than was usual for an autumn night.

But Elrohir did not appreciate any of it as much as he had expected to. Not the resplendence of his mother’s garden or the elegant throng that presently filled it or the sumptuous multi-course banquet that for once put the gargantuan feasts of the Dwarves to shame. Nay, none of it made as great an impression on the younger twin as might have been the case in the absence of one noble guest. 

“The night is still young, brother,” he heard Elladan murmur from beside him, amusement and sympathy limning his voice. “Surely you can try and appear a little more enthusiastic about your own begetting day fête!”

He and Elladan had taken a rare moment to themselves in the relative seclusion of one of the festively embellished pavilions. Since the beginning of the celebrations they had spent nearly every minute in company with one guest or another. 

They watched as several pairs danced to the lilting strains of the minstrels’ instruments, in the circular space in the midst of the candlelit, food-laden long tables and benches. Elrohir’s gaze was soon riveted on one couple in particular. He was not alone. 

Lady Galadriel and Legolas of Eryn Galen made a most winsome sight as they led the others in a graceful Silvan folkdance, Celeborn’s wife exquisite in the cream and gold that were the colors of her grandsons’ matching court tunics and mantles and the woodland prince handsomely turned out in pale grey adorned with sapphire braid and silver purl. 

Elrohir wryly chuckled. “I am doing my best,” he said. “But this is proving more difficult than I anticipated.”

“Which is?” Elladan inquired. “The waiting or your performance of the rite?”

“Both!” Elrohir groaned. “I have never known such a need before,” he confided. “If I do not assuage it before much longer, I think I shall go mad.”

“Hmm, I dare say Legolas feels the same way judging from the fact that he has been eyeing you almost without cease,” Elladan teased. “I wager he wishes you would carry out the rite forthwith that he might haul you off to the nearest bedchamber!”

Elrohir sobered. “As for that, I confess I am not certain I can do it,” he whispered.

The older twin frowned. “What do you mean? You have always displayed naught but assurance that you can carry out the rite.”

“Easy enough to do when I was not yet faced with it. But now I find it not all that attractive a prospect to name my lover in so public a manner.” Elrohir frowned as he regarded their numerous guests. “You told me all the interest in your own choice dampened your ardor and persuaded you to put off your first bedding.”

“'Twas not that alone,” Elladan corrected. “Indeed, I envy you your lack of fear. Perhaps were my preference for maids, I would not be so anxious about shedding my innocence.” His eyes strayed to the corner of the garden where their parents currently held court with Amroth and several Lórien nobles, with Glorfindel and Erestor ably ensuring that none was left to fend for himself. “But as that is not where my interest lies and there is a great possibility that 'twill be I who will yield—“

“You mean in all likelihood!” Elrohir cut in.

Elladan glowered at him then sighed. “Whatever the case, the thought of it frightens me. Indeed, it astounds me that you are so amenable to being speared. Why, you look forward to it with almost unseemly eagerness.”

“I want him. How can I not desire union with him?” Elrohir earnestly said. “Are saying you do not care as much for—?”

“I do!” Elladan insisted. “As Elbereth is my witness, I have wanted him for as long as I can remember. But he is so much older and wiser and so very beautiful and-and—”

“Well-endowed?”

Elladan flushed. “So I have heard.”

“Ah, and you fear sheathing him will bring you pain?”

“Do you not fear it, too?”

“Of course I do,” Elrohir readily admitted. “But, Elladan, what is wrong with a little discomfort at the brink of pleasure? Or great pain afore uttermost joy?”

Elladan looked at him, perplexed. “Uttermost joy?”

“Aye, think of women when they have their babes. They know pain and peril each time they bring life into the world. But the children they bear are as priceless treasures to them and deemed well worth all the trouble of carrying and birthing. In the face of their labors, what is the mere burn of a breaching for pleasure’s sake? And such exquisite pleasure if we go by how much more extolled it is than decried.”

The older twin chuckled ruefully. “How is it that you are the one counselling me when ‘twas you who sought advice from me?” he commented. “But let us return to your problem. I take it you have been unexpectedly overtaken by a fit of modesty?”

Elrohir grimaced. “That is the toll of it.”

“Well, you do not have to go through with it.”

“But I do.” Elrohir gestured in the general direction of their royal relations. “Eldacar did not keep the gist of our conversation to himself but has mentioned it to his sire and dam and all his siblings and they obviously thought nothing of sharing it with others as well. The whole Arnorian contingent has been watching me all evening, waiting for me to make a move.” He sighed. “I do not want to cause ill feelings tonight of all nights and to retreat would indubitably do just that. They would deem it a slight; a judgment of their esteemed traditions.” 

“True,” Elladan had to agree. 

Men could be so quick to make assumptions but slow to amend them should they prove incorrect. Elrohir could talk himself blue in the face explaining that personal bashfulness had assailed him at the last moment but it was highly unlikely they would believe him. It was more likely they would take offense at the perceived affront which, while it would not serve to sever diplomatic ties between Imladris and Arnor, could mar personal relations between Elrond and his brother’s descendants. 

Elladan’s eyes wandered to Eldacar and those of his friends who presently attended him. The prince and his companions would look in their direction ever so often with open interest. 

“Did not Eldacar tell you that the observance of it was subject to your interpretation?” Elladan suddenly asked.

“Aye, he did.”

“Then there is naught to keep you from carrying it out in whatever manner you are most comfortable with. I dare say King Valandil will not mind how overtly or subtly it is performed so long as he and his folk bear witness to it.”

Elrohir considered the suggestion. He grinned at Elladan. “I believe you are right, brother. My thanks.”

* * * *

Legolas surreptitiously searched the various groups of guests scattered about him. Just a moment ago, he had seen the twins walking together toward their parents, their plain _mithril_ circlets in stark contrast to their raven locks. But now only Elladan was with them. He wondered where the younger twin had taken himself.

As he scanned the grounds once more, he met Eldacar’s gaze. The Man smiled and, detaching himself from his friends, sauntered over to the archer who was seated for the moment at one of the tables. He sat facing Legolas across the table.

“I think you and Lady Galadriel redefined the meaning of grace,” he complimented.

Legolas courteously smiled and said, “She deserves all the credit. Only a complete stumblebum would not benefit from being partnered with her.”

“You belittle your skills, of which I wager there is an abundance,” Eldacar countered. “And which you would doubtless demonstrate to my cousin given the chance.”

The Elf-prince allowed a minute to pass in silence ere responding. “I intend to,” he tersely replied.

Eldacar had to grin at his confidence. “But what if he changes his mind? What will you do then?”

“He will not,” Legolas shot back. “Neither Elrond nor his sons renege on their promises or turn away sage counsel. Which is more than can be said of some of their kin.”

Eldacar shook his head at the subtle jab. “Are you suggesting that his promising you certain favors is a sign of sagacity?” he asked.

Legolas’s smile widened. “You said it, not I,” he pointed out.

The prince chuckled. “He must have been very young when you began your seduction of him,” he mused. “Is that the way of your kind? To woo your youth ere they know enough to separate the wheat from the chaff?” 

The archer did not stop smiling but his eyes chilled perceptively. “Nay, ‘tis not our way. But I have heard that it can be _yours_.” He continued before Eldacar could reply. “And in any case, Elrond’s sons have always been wise beyond their years, even when I met them in their adolescence. I think they know full well how to separate the wheat from the chaff.”

Eldacar regarded him thoughtfully. “You are possessive of him ere you have even possessed him,” he remarked. “Does he feel as you, I wonder? Or will that change once you have satisfied some of his curiosity?”

“What are you implying?” Legolas retorted a little sharply.

The prince shrugged. “Only that I do not think you fancy yourself a mere teacher of the love arts. At least, where my kinsman is concerned. Yet, it is difficult to sustain exclusivity for years uncounted and with so many leagues separating your realms. How will you keep him constant short of mating with him?”

Legolas did not answer at once. His eyes took on a distant quality as if he were in another place. Or another time. At length, he seemed to come back to himself and he refocused his attention on Eldacar. 

The Man was taken aback when he peered into the latter’s eyes. In that instant after the archer’s introspective reverie, his long years were unveiled. How old was the Elf, Eldacar suddenly wondered.

“He may indeed wander,” Legolas murmured. “And that is to be expected if he wishes to discover all he can of the world. But, eventually, he will learn his fill, and when he does, he will return to my side to stay.”

Eldacar stared at him. “Why not simply ask him to bind to you if you desire to keep him?” 

Legolas smiled humorlessly. “I have obligations that inhibit me for now from espousing myself outside of my kingdom. And it would be unfair to him to demand he await the time that I will be free of those obligations. But,” he added, his voice hardening. “That does not mean that I will make it easy for anyone to take him from me.”

The prince pursed his lips, torn between amusement and dismay at the tacit warning. At length, he commented, “Be that as it may, it is way past the hour when the rite should have been conducted. Methinks he has lost the courage to push through with it after all.”

“He has not,” Legolas abruptly said, looking past him.

Eldacar turned his head and saw Elrohir slowly weaving his way through the throng, pausing here and there to speak with some of the guests. But his was no leisurely stroll. 

He was headed in their direction, bearing a goblet with both hands in nigh quaint formality. 

His intent was not lost on anyone who knew of the ancient Edain custom even if it was not openly heralded or the crystal goblet he carried was no heirloom piece but taken from the banquet service. A secret smile curved the Elf-knight’s lips when Legolas rose to his feet at his approach. 

He halted before the Greenwood prince and lifted the goblet as if to toast him. Holding Legolas’s gaze, he raised the goblet to his mouth and, never turning his eyes away, sipped the rich liquid. Lips glistening with the rosy libation, he afterward offered the goblet to the archer.

Legolas maintained a solemn mien save for the gleam in his eyes. Taking the goblet in his hands, he deliberately turned it around. Likewise holding Elrohir’s gaze, he put his lips to the exact spot on the rim whence the Elf-knight had earlier drank and drained the goblet. He lowered it and returned it to Elrohir. 

“My chamber or yours?” the Elf-knight murmured.

“Yours,” Legolas huskily replied. “‘Tis time we put your bed to use other than repose.”

Elrohir nodded, his cheeks staining slightly. “I will wait for you,” he whispered. 

He turned his gaze sideways to where Valandil watched them from afar and bowed his head deferentially to the monarch and his queen. Valandil smilingly raised his goblet in approbation. Assured that the king was pleased, he looked briefly at Legolas before walking back the way he came, cradling the empty goblet against his breast with one hand, with none the wiser to what he had done if they did not know enough to expect anything less than formal ceremony. 

“Well done,” Legolas heard Eldacar say admiringly.

The archer watched the Elf-knight go to his beaming twin’s side. 

“Well done indeed,” he softly agreed, eyes aglow with anticipation.


	19. Shorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long ago wish is granted and the beginnings of a promised affair is finally realized.

**Prompt: Ends**

Since his rooms overlooked the garden, Elrohir could hear the merriment still going on down yonder. He wondered how Elladan was doing and what his parents were telling the guests to explain his disappearance. 

He would have stayed at the celebration for the requisite time. But after an hour of enduring his distracted manner, Elrond and Celebrían had given him leave to make an early exit, Celebrían’s encouraging hug in stark counterpoint to Elrond’s unexpected revelation that he had spoken to Legolas earlier in the evening and admonished him to treat Elrohir well or else. 

Elrohir did not quite know whether to be amused or horrified by his sire’s intervention. Elladan had been no help at all, laughing unreservedly at the notion of their stately father confronting the woodland prince over the matter of his younger son’s first bedding.

Under the circumstances, perhaps leaving ahead of time had been the best course of action to take. But a premature departure also entailed waiting a bit longer for Legolas to come to him, which was doing Elrohir’s presently over active imagination not much good. 

He did not know whether time was passing too slowly or overly fast for comfort. On the one hand, it seemed to be taking Legolas forever to arrive. On the other hand, were he to arrive this very minute, Elrohir was quite certain he would be frightened out of his wits.

Elladan was right even if he had obfuscated the real reason for his fears, claiming an aversion to the experience of physical pain during one’s first breaching. What truly troubled Elladan was entrusting himself to someone when he was at his most vulnerable. For there were few situations where one was as open to hurt and betrayal as when engaged in complete intimacy with another for whom one cared deeply. 

It was a concern Elrohir shared. But unlike his twin, Elrohir was not one to let caution override his desires to the point of foregoing a chance that might not come his way again. And when that chance entailed winning him not only a skilled teacher but hopefully a lifetime lover as well, Elrohir was definitely not about to retreat before his fears. 

Resisting the impulse to pace around his room, he seated himself on his balcony balustrade instead and strove to becalm his nervousness by watching the revelry below. This was Legolas, for Eru’s sake, he reminded himself. The archer cared for him; would never break faith with him. 

He did not delude himself that Legolas would not dally with others when they were apart. He had not demanded sexual fidelity of him nor did he have that right. But personal loyalty was another thing entirely and this Elrohir believed he had the right to ask of Legolas just as he was ready to swear the same to the archer. 

If he had to choose, Elrohir would take the latter over the former without hesitation. Not that he was incapable of being both but he would not hold it against Legolas if he was not of the same mind.

So lost was he in his thoughts that he did not realize he was not alone until he heard his name uttered. He looked up, startled, and saw Legolas standing at his door, openly appraising him. He rose to his feet none too steadily, feeling as if his heart would give out any moment. 

Legolas approached him. “You look as you did the first time I invited you for an evening stroll,” he said as he came to stand before him. “All awash with moonbeam and starlight—you seemed as beautiful as a Vala to my eyes. And still do.”

Before Elrohir could stammer a response, Legolas curled an arm around his waist and pulled him close. Elrohir caught his breath as their lips met. And parted. And all but melted together. In that instant, he knew his fate sealed for good.

How they found their way back into the room and onto his bed, he only vaguely remembered afterward. What made far more lasting impressions on his memory were the leisurely shedding of their clothes and the tantalizing caress of revealed flesh by lips and hands and tongue and being pressed down onto cool sheets by a strong, warm body while his mouth was thoroughly pillaged in tacit declaration of ownership.

Legolas could not help his possessiveness. Elrohir had not been the only one to await this moment with fiercely suppressed impatience. The unexpected attempt to encroach on what he deemed his had only sharpened his desire to a fine edge. And the baring of Elrohir’s lean yet well-knit body did little to temper the urge to simply bury himself in the silken heat that awaited him.

It was Elrohir’s expressive eyes that stayed him. In them he saw innocence and anxiety and utter trust. But most of all, radiant affection shone in their depths the likes of which he had never seen before. It came to him that though this day heralded Elrohir’s coming of age, ‘twas he who had just been bestowed with a gift beyond compare.

“Thank you,” he whispered, smiling at Elrohir’s puzzlement, before he caught the young Elf in a lengthy kiss of such torrid tenderness, it was as sweetly moving as it was heart-stopping.

He applied himself to a slow but scorching exploration of Elrohir’s graces. And what a bounty there was to be discovered. 

To go with his beauteous face was a body best kept under cover to keep it from being too much of a distraction when there was urgent work to be done. For who could resist such luminosity of skin infused with the warmth of color; the subtle play of finely hewn muscles in a frame too slender to be truly mannish yet more broad of shoulder and chest than the average Elf; or an engaging suppleness and sleek brawn which, when coupled with the Elf-knight’s astuteness and sharp wit, presaged the emergence of a warrior lord of considerable prowess?

That Elrohir looked at him just as appreciatively, if not more so, added to his already well-stoked arousal. Legolas was proud of his body and had excellent reason for it. He had never been above using his beauty to lure whomever he wanted between the sheets with him and had little patience for assumed modesty and protestations of worth. Coyness simply did not appeal to him. 

But with Elrohir, that changed. The Elf-knight neither exaggerated his admiration of Legolas’s attractions for courtship’s sake nor made a pretense of his uncertainties as to whether he deserved the archer’s reciprocation of desire. That shy forthrightness was vastly more seductive than anything Legolas had yet experienced in his long life. 

Was it any wonder he yearned to make Elrohir utterly his and ensure the youth would remember this first lesson for many years to come? 

As for Elrohir, he was no prude. He could not be one in lore-steeped Imladris where bawdy tales were just as welcome as historical treatises. But to touch and be touched in places not seen by any other who was not his twin or his physician father since he left childhood behind had him torn between yearning for more and wanting to cover his flushed face with a pillow. Coupled with Legolas’s throaty chuckles whenever he saw evidence of Elrohir’s discomfiture and it was no mystery at all that the Elf-knight found himself in lovely turmoil throughout.

But then Legolas’s attention came perilously close to his groin and Elrohir realized he had not yet experienced the outermost bounds of sexual play short of coupling itself. He gave a startled gasp when he felt the archer’s mouth on him, the feel of his tongue stroking the length of his shaft almost enough to undo him, then choked back a cry when Legolas wrapped his lips around the rigid flesh and drew upon it with a lustiness that bespoke a great enjoyment of the delectable mouthful.

To say it was a shock to be serviced so was an understatement. Elrohir had always known there were many ways by which one Elf could pleasure another. But he did not always know what he did not know and, in any case, even if he understood the basics of bodily intimacy, such knowledge could not equal first-hand experience. 

Yet he was also a Peredhel of strong desires and a streak of shameless adventurer in him. Once he comprehended the beauty and bliss of the act not only for himself but for Legolas as well, he cast aside his inhibitions and set himself to responding in kind.

“Wait, Legolas!” he pleaded, struggling to still the need to spend soonest. “Can I not do the same for you?”

Legolas looked at him with glittering eyes and a smirk that promised enough to leave Elrohir a-jitter. “Indeed you may,” he huskily answered. He shifted about with a feline grace that showed his sleekly muscled body to full advantage. 

Elrohir wondered if his heart could take the strain of so much frantic beating. But faced with the archer’s impressive endowment, he forgot all else as his mouth went dry and his senses chose the moment to collude in a plot to stoke his desire beyond his control. Worries about his abilities abandoned him as he attacked the wellspring of his lust, making up for his lack of experience with sheer eagerness for this first taste of his archer love.

The woodland prince nearly forgot that he was the teacher to the Elf-knight’s pupil in the wake of such happily voracious servicing. Elrohir was already proving a most apt student, Legolas nigh deliriously thought. 

The years-long wait had its part in ensuring they would finish in a shorter while than either was accustomed to, even for Legolas who knew both his limits and what he was capable of. But as it took the edge off his desire, he did not mind. All the better if it helped prolong their pleasure for the rest of the evening.

He sat up and looked down at Elrohir who lay unmoving on his side, his eyes closed and his breathing uneven. The Elf-knight, unused to climaxing so intensely, had been somewhat enervated by it. 

Legolas let his gaze wander down his body all the way to his long legs, one bent slightly forward to reveal more of the delicate flesh hidden between the firm rounds of his backside. He licked his lips unconsciously in the manner of a cat assaying its prey.

The tender pouch at the base of the Elf-knight’s shaft glistened with saliva and excess milky seed. Legolas reached behind the near somnolent youth and smeared his fingers with the slippery fluids. 

Elrohir’s eyes fluttered open, a question in their depths. They widened an instant later when Legolas worked a slick finger up his backside, teasing him a moment before slowly sliding it in to the knuckle. Elrohir came completely awake then, eyes fastened on Legolas in mingled anticipation and fright.

Instinctively, he began to bring his legs together defensively. But Legolas softly said, “I want you, Elf-knight.” 

Elrohir promptly stopped. And, to Legolas’s everlasting admiration, rolled completely onto his stomach, staunchly keeping his legs parted.

“I will not pretend it matters little to me to be first to sup of your graces,” Legolas murmured, pressing a kiss to Elrohir’s shoulder, then pulling aside his thick mane to suck at his nape even as he continued to ready him for breaching. “You are truly a prize, Elrohir.” His lips moved to the skin behind Elrohir’s ear. “And one I would not gladly share.”

It was risky to stake a claim when there was no surety yet of just when that claim could be sealed. But Legolas believed Elrohir insightful enough to understand that no promise was being demanded of him; only a hope that he would keep his heart if not his body for the archer alone.

Elrohir drew a shaky breath before he turned his head and, looking over his shoulder at Legolas, softly said, “Nor would I. You are worth waiting for, Legolas.”

Legolas groaned inwardly. Elbereth, his forbearance was at an end! He withdrew his hand. And heard the hitch in Elrohir’s breathing. Saw how Elrohir’s eyes darted to his shaft, all hard and thick once more from Legolas’s resurgent need, copious seed issuing from it again. The young Elf’s shoulders tensed and his buttocks flexed in anxious expectation of invasion. 

Legolas smoothed his hand down Elrohir’s back. “We need not do this,” he gallantly offered. 

Elrohir looked at him entreatingly. “Nay, I want this,” he insisted. “Just … be gentle.”

Legolas regarded him thoughtfully. “Turn over,” he suggested. “I think it will be better if you can see me.”

The Elf-knight stared at him then nodded. He shifted onto his back then tried to relax when Legolas urged his legs up and around his waist. 

He caught a glimpse of Legolas smearing his shaft with his seed and blushed at the sight. Then Legolas positioned himself and he felt the nudge of hard flesh, seeking entrance. He closed his eyes, shuddering a little as the nudge grew more insistent. He could not quite stifle a wince of discomfort when he felt the first press of Legolas’s shaft into him and he blindly reached up to grip the archer’s arms. 

“Let me in, _pen vuil_ ”—dear one—he heard Legolas murmur. Hands soothingly stroked his hips and thighs. 

Elrohir willed his muscles to relax enough to permit Legolas entry into his body. Though the slow inward slide burned, he did not fight the intrusion, adjusting his hips and legs instead to better ease the heady penetration. 

And heady it was indeed for, despite the discomfort, the idea that it was Legolas inside him, that he had actually, finally attained what he had desired for so very long, superceded all other thought. And that was enough to spark frissons of pleasure within him. He caught his breath when he felt Legolas’s groin flush against his buttocks, evidence that the archer was completely seated within.

He opened his eyes to see Legolas watching him intently. Elrohir blew out the breath he had not realized he was holding. 

“I am well,” he managed.

Legolas smiled, a funny, somewhat crooked smile that made him all the more endearing. 

“Let us see if we can do better than well,” he murmured.

He withdrew a bit, shifting his angle minutely as he pushed back in. Repeated the movement twice more, each controlled lunge coaxing tight flesh to loosen up further. Elrohir gave a strangled gasp as pleasure erupted in his groin. The same pleasure he’d known when Legolas earlier prepared him only … only this one was more intense, filled as he was with thick, hard flesh.

“Better?” Legolas softly queried, brushing tendrils of hair from Elrohir’s forehead.

Elrohir swallowed, then let out a shuddery breath. “Much better,” he unsteadily replied.

Legolas leaned down to kiss him, pushing into him as he did. Before long, Elrohir was bearing down on every incursion, gasping as unfamiliar sensations coursed through him. It was the signal for Legolas to deepen his thrusts, every plunge a catalyst for rapture for his young lover. He reached for Elrohir’s shaft and gripped it; began to stroke it in time with his quickening movements. Elrohir’s eyes flew open and widened as another new sensation joined the already turbulent welter that gripped him. 

“Wait, I cannot ... Legolas… too much—!” 

The incoherent spill of words coupled with Elrohir’s instinctual lifting of his hips to enclose the flesh that speared him and the flush that stained his fair skin from cheeks to shoulders to chest proved as compelling as any practiced act of seduction. Legolas knew himself mastered by his need for the first time in more years than he could remember. 

He managed to hold back just a while longer. Enough to ensure Elrohir finished first. But the moment he felt his hand coated in warm cream, heard Elrohir’s smothered moans and saw his comely face tighten in the throes of completion, he let go. 

A few more thrusts and he climaxed hard and strong, the contracting grip of satiny flesh around his shaft heightening the bliss. His body trembling from the most intense orgasm in his memory, Legolas leaned low to seal his mouth to Elrohir’s. Only with great reluctance did he pull out, missing Elrohir’s heat as soon as he left it. 

They lay afterward in a pleasant tangle of limbs, Elrohir enfolded in Legolas’s arms, his dark head tucked into the crook of the archer’s neck.

“Definitely worth waiting for,” he whispered with a happy sigh.

Legolas chuckled. “The night is still young and so are you. Surely you are up for more,” he fondly teased.

Elrohir lifted his head and looked at him with such enthusiasm Legolas was hard pressed to keep his laughter at bay.

“I am but I was not certain you were,” Elrohir cheekily replied. “You do have a few thousand years on me after all.”

Legolas feigned indignation. “There are some things that vastly improve with age, _pen neth_ ”—young one—he pointed out. He pressed Elrohir back against the sheets, sliding between the Elf-knight’s legs in the same motion with practiced ease. “Elves have eternity in which to perfect their skills.” 

IF Elrohir had some form of rebuttal in mind, he soon found himself unable to think clearly enough to voice it. Not when his woodland prince kept him too occupied, heart, body and mind, to string together enough words to form a sensible sentence, let alone eloquent speech.


	20. Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is so much more to loving than mere bodily union.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit on the mushy side, I’m afraid, but my muses simply refused to let me tackle anything serious or angsty.

**Prompt: Lovers**

Elrohir gingerly sat down on the bench, wincing slightly as his tender bottom met unyielding wood. He heard a soft snicker from across the table and looked up with a faint scowl at his twin. Elladan pursed his lips in a bid to stifle more laughter but his eyes said otherwise. 

“Should I fetch you a pillow?” the older twin brightly inquired. 

That earned him a considerable glower when the comment inspired further curiosity about Elrohir’s circumstances. Their parents and grandparents’ wan smiles did not escape Elrohir’s notice while the occupants of the neighboring tables regarded him with varying degrees of furtiveness, a few not quite able to conceal their amusement. The Arnorian crown prince was numbered among these, much to Elrohir’s annoyance. 

“How very considerate of you, brother mine,” he testily muttered. 

The Elf-knight did his best to ignore the ache in his backside, fighting the urge to squirm and find a more comfortable position. He began to question the wisdom of presenting himself in public so soon after a night such as he had just experienced.

A hand dropped on his shoulder and he glanced up to meet Legolas’ clear gaze. A small smile curved the prince’s lips. Elrohir began to smile back until he saw what Legolas held in his other hand. His cheeks flamed when Legolas signed to him to stand up. 

His eyes never leaving Elrohir, Legolas said: “There is no need, Elladan.” He slid a soft cushion onto the bench and motioned to Elrohir to reseat himself while he settled beside him. “Better?” he softly asked, placing his hand briefly on Elrohir’s lower back.

Elrohir nodded, half closing his eyes when Legolas ran his knuckles down one bright red cheek.

“Good,” Legolas murmured. “Forgive me, I should have restrained myself last night.”

Elrohir momentarily forgot his embarrassment at the hint of self-reproach in Legolas’ voice. 

“Nay, I wanted it as much as you did,” he blurted out. “There was no call for restraint at all.” 

He caught his breath in horror when he realized he had spoken during a sudden lull in the general breakfast chatter and thus virtually divulged to one and all the extent of his night’s indulgence with the woodland prince. He dropped his gaze and kept it glued to the tabletop, unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes and mortified to the core at drawing even more attention to the very thing he had taken such pains to downplay the previous night.

Elrohir felt his twin sympathetically nudge his leg with his foot but he refused to look up. Until Legolas curled an arm around his shoulders and drew him closer. Only then did he dare lift his eyes to glance at the prince. 

He started when Legolas pressed a gentle kiss to his brow, the gesture not only marking him as the archer’s but also defining the nature of their nascent liaison. Quite a risk for Legolas to take, Elrohir realized, should word of it get back to his people. 

To charm one’s way into a would be conquest’s bed was only to be expected. To be possessive of a hard won prize was not unusual either. But to behave affectionately toward a mere trophy indicated some emotional attachment and that was what Legolas had concealed from his folk all these years to keep dissent at bay. 

His discomfort forgotten and replaced by concern for Legolas instead, Elrohir murmured, “Your intent could be… misconstrued.”

The prince apparently discerned the change and treated him to a slow smile that all but dazzled the breath from the younger twin’s breast. 

“It was a great honor, Elrohir,” Legolas distinctly said, his words carrying to the others at the table. “One I will treasure all my days.” He dropped his voice to a near whisper only Elrohir could hear. “And hope will ever be mine alone.”

The Elf-knight looked at him wonderingly. “Are you saying…?” he began. At the gleam in Legolas’ eyes, Elrohir broke into a delighted smile. “‘Tis my hope, too.”

“Even through a long wait?” Legolas softly asked.

Elrohir nodded. “I meant it when I said you are worth waiting for,” he murmured.

He was reminded they were not alone when Elladan nudged him once more under the table but in less gentle fashion than he had earlier. A moment later, Elrond and Celeborn cleared their throats almost simultaneously, recalling Legolas’ attention as well to their present surroundings.

Legolas apologetically dipped his head to both lords and their ladies but neither couple was so obtuse as to believe him repentant in the least. Not when he kept his arm firmly around Elrohir then looked about at the nearby tables, silently shaming their occupants into casting their stares elsewhere. 

His gaze seemed particularly flinty when it alighted on Eldacar. The Man returned him a faint smile and a nod of acknowledgment before deflecting his fellows’ interest away from the younger twin.

His protectiveness was not lost on Elrohir. When Legolas looked at him again, the Elf-knight was grinning at him with utmost fondness.

“Thank you,” he said.

Legolas shook his head. “I will not have my lover ill at ease in his own home,” he replied.

Elrohir’s eyes widened and his eyebrows rose a fraction. After a moment, his mouth spread into a sweet smile, nigh tempting Legolas into further indiscretion. 

“How do I show mine how much I appreciate his concern for me?” Elrohir inquired. 

Legolas chuckled. “Need you ask?"

The Elf-knight blushed slightly. “Tonight then?” he said under his breath.

“And every night of my stay here,” Legolas added.

Elrohir snorted. “Do you mean to render me incapable of sitting for the duration of your visit?” he tartly inquired.

Legolas softly laughed. “Not at all. I just want you in my bed whether we couple or not. Not to mention awaken each morn with you by my side. Or is that too much to ask of you?”

The Elf-knight shook his head and slipped a hand trustingly into the archer’s grip.

“Indeed, ‘tis not nearly enough.”


	21. Stimulus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elladan discovers that eavesdropping can be both a pleasure and a pain.

**Prompt: Sound**

Silently cursing, Elladan attempted the impossible—to block out the sounds coming from his brother’s bed while he lay curled up under it with nothing to cover his ears but his hands. And they were not doing a very good job of muffling Elrohir’s inarticulate whimpers or Legolas’ salacious whispers.

Sweet Eru! Whatever had possessed him to hide beneath his twin’s bed? 

He should have realized as soon as he heard Legolas’ husky chuckle that the archer would stay the night. He should have seated himself, waited for them to pull apart and calmly explained his presence to them with as much dignity as he could muster with deeply flushed cheeks, his breech-laces undone and his shirt hem stained where he had wiped his hand.

Another imprecation nearly escaped him. What had gotten into his head to pleasure himself in a bed other than his own? Damn his sordid imagination! 

And all because of a glimpse of a certain Elf’s bared torso as he made his way back to his room, sodden shirt in hand. The sight had overcome Elladan so precipitately that he ducked into the nearest bedchamber all a-tremble. Unfortunately, Elrohir’s room had been the closest.

Elladan stifled a groan when he heard Elrohir’s guttural pleas. What in Arda was Legolas doing to reduce his proud brother to such mindless surrender? Not that he should be wondering at all, he reminded himself. Indeed, he should be contemplating escape rather than getting aroused all over again by what was happening above him.

That was what had landed him in this predicament in the first place. If he had allowed that moment of nigh unbearable lust to pass and returned to his own room to take care of the consequences of it, he would not now be cowering in a horrible state halfway between apprehension of discovery and steadily waxing arousal. But, nay, he’d let his imagination run away with him, seeing in his mind’s eye far more than what had been revealed to him in the corridor. One thing had led to another and before he knew it he’d undone his breeches and desperately tended to the embarrassing bulge that had taken up residence within, completely forgetting that he was not in his own quarters.

Hardly had he spilled himself when he heard the door begin to snick open and hushed laughter drift through the widening crack. He did not stop to think. Even less did he consider his options when Elrohir’s mirth was cut off quite suddenly by the seal of Legolas’ lips against his. 

That brief pause before their entry into the chamber should have galvanized him into yanking his shirt down over his breeches and conjuring some explanation for his presence and the state he was in. Instead, he had panicked.

It was one thing to exchange bawdy banter with Elrohir when they were alone. Altogether another thing when it was apparent his brother was about to indulge in far more than mere talk with the woodland prince. 

And so he took the only course of action that occurred to him. He dove under the bed. And regretted it ever since.

Bad enough to listen to the rustle of clothing being stripped off and thrown carelessly on the floor right in front of him or the faint creak of the bed as two bodies toppled onto it and shifted about tellingly. But listening to the vocal expressions of their love play proved a trial he had never imagined undergoing. A trial brought to a spectacular climax by his brother’s hoarse intonation of the archer’s name followed by the most peculiar of sounds.

Elladan closed his eyes and futilely covered his ears with his hands when he heard the soft, rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh. Elbereth preserve me, he nearly groaned aloud. 

His silent entreaty went unheard as evidenced by the hardening of certain parts down yonder and he only barely managed to suppress a sacrilegious opinion of the supposed efficacy of prayer.

Soon the nigh painful tension in his groin forced him to seek relief. He stroked himself to the strains of sharp, frantic gasps and low, lingering moans, all but stuffing his fist into his mouth to keep from uttering so much as a squeak.

Their completions ensured his, Elrohir’s strangled sobs and Legolas’ feral groans sending him over the precipice into rapture. Only by clenching his teeth on the cuff of his sleeve was he able to stifle his own cry of ecstasy. 

Afterward, he could only weakly lie there, as much enervated by the attempts to remain silent as by his intense spending.

He heard snatches of pillow talk. Gentle raillery, dulcet laughter, a subtle avowal of love. This last rendered him agape with awe, uttered as it had been not by Elrohir but by Legolas. Elladan forced down the sudden lump in his throat.

Their conversation slowly wound down, much to Elladan’s relief. Thank the Powers they had spent the better part of the day outdoors, engaged in strenuous activity. Otherwise, Elladan might well have been forced to bide the whole night in uncomfortable concealment. There was no reason to disbelieve his brother’s claim regarding Legolas’ lusty appetite for the pleasures to be found in Elrohir’s bed.

Elladan waited until he heard the steady breathing of slumber before cautiously crawling out. 

He winced as he rose to his feet, his long limbs protesting their lengthy spell squeezed into cramped accommodations. But he kept his eyes averted lest he see the bed’s occupants displayed in all their post-coital glory. He stealthily made his way to the door.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

The older twin froze. He warily peered over his shoulder and saw that Legolas had raised himself on one arm to better see him. He was relieved to note that the blanket had been adequately drawn up but his relief was short-lived when he espied the questioning gleam in the archer’s eyes.

“Let me explain,” Elladan stammered, turning around. “I did not mean to—“

He halted, his breath catching as Elrohir stirred, a frown marring his brow. Legolas stroked his lover's flank soothingly until he settled anew in the prince’s cradling arms. He looked up at Elladan once more.

“I am sure you had good reason to conceal yourself as you did,” he murmured. “You may tell me come morning if you wish.” He smiled faintly when Elladan’s anxious gaze dropped to his brother. “He will not learn of it from me,” he assured him.

Elladan only realized he had been holding his breath when he released it. He hastily blurted his thanks to the Wood-elf then turned on his heel and dashed out.

“Legolas?”

The archer looked down into drowsy grey eyes.

“I thought I heard Elladan,” Elrohir sleepily mumbled.

“And I imagine Elladan heard too much for his comfort,” Legolas softly replied, his voice edged with mirth. With that, he proceeded to kiss Elrohir’s languor and puzzlement away.


	22. Disabused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Legolas’s departure draws near, one of Elrohir’s assumptions comes to the fore.

**Prompt: What?**

Elrohir struggled to keep from alerting all the residents of the Last Homely House to his present circumstances: down on his elbows and knees, flushed face pressed into a Wood-elf scented pillow and said Wood-elf’s shaft plowing deep into him from behind, each inward slide reminding him that he belonged to one Legolas Thranduilion, Elven prince of Greenwood the Great.

He had known from their first meeting whose claim to his innocence he would recognize and accept. That Legolas would also lay claim to his heart had been no more than a hope on his part. But now Elrohir’s hope had become reality. A reality that was impressed on him each and every night and many a spare period of leisure in between. Legolas was ensuring that Elrohir would remember him most vividly not only in thought but also in body and heart well after the archer had returned to his forest realm.

Knowing hands mapped his torso, nimble fingers playing with his peaked nipples, skimming over the taut muscles of his belly and snaking down to fondle his groin and the tops and sides of his straining thighs before one hand crept toward his aching shaft and began to stroke it gently, teasingly. Soft lips and a wicked tongue roamed his back from his nape and the side of his neck down to the broad expanse of smooth skin between his shoulders. And all the while, hot, hard flesh relentlessly cleaved him and filled him to the hilt.

Elrohir let out a shuddery moan and clutched the pillow. He would definitely need it to smother his reaction by the time Legolas was done with him.

“Elrohir, look at me.”

The husky command compelled him to turn his head and peer over his shoulder at his lover. He had a glimpse of sparkling blue eyes and a heart-stopping smile before Legolas suddenly leaned forward and captured him in a kiss. He gasped against the archer’s lips whereupon he found his mouth invaded by a questing tongue. The stroking of his shaft quickened, the thrusts up his backside roughened. A despairing groan escaped him as he felt the mounting pleasure sharply evolve into imminent completion. It was simply too much.

Shaking helplessly, he spilled himself into Legolas’s hand, his sobbing cries muffled against the prince’s lips. Legolas nigh slammed into him before he stiffened against his back, groaning harshly as he did. Elrohir closed his eyes when he felt the familiar flow of liquid warmth into him. Legolas’s seed was as copious in quantity as his shaft was generous in size.

Once they had caught their breaths, Legolas gently rolled them on their sides. But he did not release Elrohir nor did he withdraw from him. The Elf-knight adjusted his hips until he could lie comfortably with the archer’s shaft still lodged inside him. 

He was used to this by now. It was no longer a shock to him to awaken in the morning still joined to Legolas after a night’s worth of couplings.

The Wood-elf was astonishingly potent. Small wonder he had been a sought after lover back in Eryn Galen.

_Had been? Or still was?_

Legolas had indicated he would prefer that Elrohir reserved himself for him alone. But Elrohir had not dared ask the same of Legolas and certainly had not expected him to remain chaste during the years before his coming of age, the archer’s profession of abstinence notwithstanding. Elrohir sighed. 

It was not his right to feel jealous of any lovers Legolas may have entertained during those interim years. Or for that matter, in the years to come when they were separated. Legolas had not promised to be his exclusively after all.

“What has put that frown on your face?” Legolas murmured. “Not my bed manners I hope.”

Elrohir chuckled. “Far from it,” he assured the prince. “I do not need another lover to know you are probably without peer in the bedroom.”

Legolas snorted. “How can you assume that if you have none to compare me to?”

“Fishing for compliments?” Elrohir teased. “But, nay, I need look no further than your own folk for confirmation of your prowess. Your reputation precedes you and I heard much last we visited Eryn Galen. But even did I not, your ability to leave me quite speechless should be enough proof of your skill, don’t you think?”

He was rewarded by a soft guffaw and an affectionate nuzzle against the side of his throat. A hand slid down to his abdomen, gently caressing the firm flesh. Elrohir started to relax.

“So—what was bothering you then?”

Elrohir started. He glanced back at Legolas and met a quizzical gaze. And a determined one.

“Surely you can confide your worries in me,” Legolas coaxed. “You always have.”

The Elf-knight hesitated then resigned himself to whatever reaction his admission would elicit. He looked away and drew a calming breath.

“I was only jealous,” he said in a low voice. “And mind you, I know it is foolish of me and that I have no right to feel thusly. And I know it is ridiculous of me to wish that you had cloistered yourself all these years. But it still does not lessen the sting of ... of sharing you with others.”

He fell silent and waited for the archer’s response. When none seemed forthcoming, he wondered if he had said too much. Fearing to look back lest he glimpsed displeasure, he dared to reach for the hand on his belly and squeeze it.

“Forget what I said,” he softly pleaded. “‘Twas just a child’s foolish fancy.”

He felt Legolas tense against his back. The Wood-elf suddenly pulled his hand out of his grip. Elrohir caught his breath. Had he truly offended the prince? An instant later, he gasped when Legolas all but shoved his shaft all the way into him while grasping him by the hip to pull him back tight against him.

“Child?” Legolas murmured roughly against his ear. “‘Tis hardly a child I now hold in my arms.”

“Legolas—”

“I told you I would abstain,” Legolas pointed out, the mildness of his tone at variance with the faint menace underlying it. “Think you I would go back on my own promise and share myself so easily? And I had set my sights on the greatest prize of all. Why would I waste my time on anything of less worth? Fie on you to doubt my word, Elf-knight!”

Elrohir closed his eyes, the verbal onslaught coupled with the sensual assault nearly bereaving him of his wits anew.

“The greatest prize?” he managed to say. “Was I worth the years of denying your body’s needs, Legolas?” he dared to demand. “ _Am I?_ ”

Legolas laughed, a low throaty sound that made mincemeat of what remained of Elrohir’s resolve. 

“I wondered what had become of the Elf whose pluck and forthrightness enthralled me from the start,” he remarked. “You may be the younger and less experienced but when we come together as lovers, you are my equal, Elrohir. Do not be afraid to tell me if I have displeased you or if you desire something of me.” He slipped a hand down to cup the Elf-knight possessively. “As for your question—you are _more_ than worthy. Never doubt that!”

He abruptly pulled out of the younger Elf only to roll him onto his back, ignoring his startled bewilderment. With little preamble, he mounted Elrohir once more, hardly giving him the chance to catch his breath afore he resumed pounding into him. The madcap pace he set was nothing like anything he had treated Elrohir to since the start of their affair and it swiftly sent them spiralling into a climax as shattering as the previous one.

Elrohir weakly crawled into Legolas's arms afterward and laid his head on the archer’s breast. Elbereth! If this was Legolas’s manner of punishing a wayward lover, the temptation to transgress would never be far away.

His backside would be truly sore come morning. He would once more have to relegate his bottom to cushioned seats the following day. And he would need to brace himself for another round of raillery from Elladan. But no matter. 

His heart was full to bursting and his thoughts were awash with the wonder and joy of an unexpected confirmation of fidelity. He breathed in the singular scent of his Wood-elven lover and sighed, a contented smile curving his lips.

“Is there anything else on your mind?” Legolas idly inquired, running his fingers through Elrohir’s tousled hair.

Elrohir looked at him and grinned. “Aside from wondering if you will have me again this eve?” he quipped.

Legolas returned his gaze thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said.

Elrohir’s grin faded to a perplexed frown. “Yes, you think I have something else on my mind?” he ascertained.

The archer shook his head and pulled him up until they were face to face.

“Yes, I will have you again this eve.”


	23. Setback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does one distinguish between what is and what seems to be?

**Prompt: Triangle**

Elladan shook his head as he exited his brother’s room and headed down the corridor for the Hall of Fire. It was clear from the rapt expression on Elrohir’s face that he would be utterly absorbed in Legolas’s latest letter for the next hour or so. More if the archer’s penchant for bawdy humor was reflected in his missive. Elrohir would likely have to calm certain body parts if he wished to eventually sleep in comfort. By then, the night would be old.

He considered his twin’s situation. Elrohir was now privy to the meanings behind even the subtlest of innuendos, so well had Legolas taught him his bed manners. Nuances that could go over an innocent’s head, as they sometimes did with Elladan, were no longer less than crystal clear to Elrohir. He could understand even the most obscure sexual references and knowledgeably participate in the salty banter of the vale's seasoned warriors.

It did rankle to admit on occasion that he, the elder of Elrond’s sons, was the less conversant and experienced in the pleasures of the flesh. But that alone would still not be enough to compel him to set aside his reservations and engage in said pleasures. 

Nay, what tempted him was Elrohir’s state of being since he and Legolas became lovers. His joy and contentment as well as leashed passion resounded through their fraternal link and oft left Elladan aching for the same felicity.

If anything could finally overcome his fears and pride, it was that yearning for a love he could call all his own. Once his heart was given and taken, Elladan could not imagine denying his chosen one his body or failing to enjoy coupling with him even if it entailed yielding himself in pleasure.

He sighed. Nothing would come of his longing if he did not do something. The first move would have to come from him even if it was not he who did the actual courting. His station as Elrond’s heir virtually demanded that of him and any prospective suitor.

Taking a deep breath, he turned around and headed back whence he came, turning left at the fork in the corridor instead of right. Making for the quarters of Elrond’s trusted household members. It was late enough that most of them would have retired for the night but not so late that they would already be asleep.

An Elf was strolling down the passage ahead of him, eyes cast down as if he was deep in thought. Elladan paused and waited for him to reach his door. But just as the latter came to it, the door swung open.

“Erestor, what are you doing here?”

“Wondering if you would ever arrive,” the dark-haired counsellor wryly commented. “Really, you can be slower than molasses in the dead of winter.”

Before the other could respond, Erestor chuckled and, taking him by the hand, pulled him into the room, pressing a kiss to his lips as he did.

The color drained from Elladan’s face as he watched the door close, his mind awash with dismay and burgeoning anguish. Why had he not noticed? And since when had they…

He turned on his heel and fled back to the family wing. Not surprisingly, he hurried to his brother’s room.

Elrohir looked up in surprise when he barged in, eyes welling with unshed tears and lips trembling despite his attempt to still them by biting down on them. In a flash, Elrohir was on his feet and hurrying to his twin’s side.

“Elladan! What is wrong, brother?” he exclaimed, arms solicitously going around his distraught twin.

“Too late,” Elladan shakily said. “I am too late.”

Elrohir blinked. “What do you mean?” he demanded, leading Elladan to the bed and making him sit down. “Too late for what?”

“I-I saw Erestor with… They were—are…” Elladan stuttered. “Ah, Elrohir, he has taken a lover!” he suddenly wailed. “He did not wait for me!”

The Elf-knight stared at him. “Impossible,” he whispered.

“I saw what I saw,” Elladan insisted. “That was no chaste kiss they shared.”

Elrohir frowned. “Tell me all,” he instructed. “And do start from the beginning.”

Forcing himself to calm down, Elladan recounted what he had seen to his brother. When he was finished, he looked at Elrohir imploringly, hurt gleaming in his grey eyes. The younger twin recalled Legolas’s observation in Greenwood all those many years ago.

“Nay,” Elrohir slowly said, shaking his head. “That is impossible. You must be mistaken. You are mistaken.”

Elladan snorted. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Legolas saw his desire long ago,” Elrohir explained. “And I have since observed it as well. He wants you, Elladan. I do not believe he has turned his eyes elsewhere now of all times!”

Elladan regarded him skeptically. “Then explain what I saw,” he challenged.

Elrohir hesitated then blew out his breath and cautiously said, “This could be no more than a diversion while he bides his time. After all, you have chosen to delay bedding anyone for Elbereth only knows how long.” He sighed when Elladan winced and averted his gaze. “It was hard enough for us to await our majority,” he went on as gently as he could. “What more for one who likely began his wait long before either of us even understood the meaning of desire?”

The older twin swallowed hard then nodded in faintest hope. “Perhaps you are right.” 

He closed his eyes, forcing back his tears, while Elrohir soothingly rubbed his back.

“Why were you there in the first place?” Elrohir curiously asked.

Elladan flushed. “I was going to tell him that ... that I am perfectly amenable to, um, spending more time in his company.”

Elrohir stopped his rubbing and gaped at him disbelievingly. “That sounds more like a diplomatic proposal than a romantic proposition,” he remarked at length. “You will have to work on your choice of words if you wish to convince him that his courtship is welcome. Valar, better if you simply ask him to bugger you into the mattress.”

Elladan glared at him. “Mind your tongue, imp,” he tartly grumbled.

“Oh, I always do,” Elrohir cheekily retorted. “Legolas says I can do more things with my tongue than some Elves can do with their—”

“Elrohir!”

The Elf-knight grinned at the sight of crimson cheeks, glad to have diverted his brother from his misery even if only for the moment. After a few heartbeats, Elladan apparently agreed for he wanly smiled.

“Thank you,” he weakly offered.

Elrohir threw a comradely arm across his shoulders. “‘Tis time you made it clear to him that you are his for the taking,” he quipped. “And I mean in no uncertain terms, brother. No more of this dancing around the issue and moping like a feckless, lovesick Elfling.”

“So says he who moped like a feckless, lovesick Elfling not too long ago,” Elladan teased.

“‘Twas little more than a phase,” Elrohir airily dismissed. “And one I grew out of quite quickly.”

This last was intoned in a way that dared his brother to disagree with him. Elladan softly chuckled.

“You are right, Elrohir. ‘Tis time _I_ stake my claim.”


	24. Reprisal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One jealous turn deserves another.

**Prompt: Too Much**

The problem with having too many spare hours on one’s hands and no brother around to while away said hours with was that one got to thinking over much and had no one to confide in when the results of that thinking became intolerable. 

Elladan had always been the better of the twins at maintaining his composure even in the face of adversity. But that was largely due to being able to confide in Elrohir, a practice that helped relieve him of the excess tensions and anxieties that might otherwise drive him to lose his temper or manners or both. But a scant two days after that inopportune sighting of Elladan’s supposed suitor apparently keeping an assignation, Elrohir was sent on a scouting expedition with one of Glorfindel’s lieutenants. 

It was a routine mission and of minimal danger at most. Elrond would never permit either of his sons to participate in anything life-threatening just yet. But train them to fulfill their future roles in the valley realm he would and did and that entailed the occasional foray outside the protected bounds of Imladris. This was especially true for Elrohir who would some day be his brother’s chief advisor and one of the valley’s principal defenders.

Unfortunately for Elladan, two days did not provide enough time to empty himself of all his fears and frustrations. Nor had Elrohir had the chance to calm his twin’s frazzled nerves or help him decide the best way to approach the source of his present discomposure. Consequently, Elladan spent more time than was healthy dwelling on what threatened to be his first case of heartbreak and dreaming up every possible way to counter such an event. 

That he did not resort to the most direct method of getting what he wanted betrayed his inexperience as well as the mixture of confusion, agitation and lingering fearfulness that had taken hold of him. In years to come, he would blushingly trot out these reasons to explain (or excuse) his behavior one particular night in the Hall of Fire.

When he entered the hall, he saw that Elrond and Celebrîan had seated themselves in a secluded corner with Glorfindel and a few advisors and healers in attendance. Erestor, on the other hand, had chosen to sit alone in one of the couches on the opposite side of the chamber. The counsellor apparently intended to shed the day’s worries through solitary enjoyment of music and song.

Elladan would never really know what impulse drove him then. He would only later recall that he had never been so frightened or determined in all his life. With an uncharacteristic nigh rebellious glance in his parents’ direction, he joined Erestor on the couch.

But first he snatched a cup of wine from a passing retainer’s tray, tossed back the contents then gestured for another cup, which he emptied by the time he sat down beside Erestor. The counsellor looked at him questioningly when he signalled the wine steward for more. Elladan managed a cocky grin.

“Why so surprised, Erestor?” he assayed. “‘Tis not as if I have never had wine before.”

“But neither has it been your wont to down it like water. Not since you and Elrohir made the mistake of mixing copious ale and Dorwinion wine all those years ago.”

Elladan smiled as his cup was refilled. “Surely an occasional binge is permissible. Not that I intend to do so tonight,” he hastily added when Erestor looked at him reprovingly. “I merely wish to loosen up a bit and pass the evening in convivial company.”

Erestor regarded him thoughtfully. “You miss Elrohir,” he said with a small smile.

“There is that. But we do have to learn how to manage without each other. We are not joined at the hip after all, contrary to popular belief.” Elladan hesitated and then boldly continued. “Indeed, there are some things we will each have to undertake on our own. Elrohir has already begun and he oft says I should as well.”

Erestor did not reply at once but looked across the room at Elrond and Celebriân who were in turn surreptitiously observing their son. Elladan, however, paid their attention no mind, whether out of obliviousness or defiance, even the astute counsellor could not say for certain.

He did try to temper Elladan’s intake in the course of their conversation. Conversation the younger Elf seemed intent on deliberately peppering with innuendo in a voice he did not always trouble to keep low and discreet. The latter was obviously a direct result of the greater than usual quantity of wine he had imbibed. He was by no means inebriated but he had drunk enough to lower his natural reserve.

Elladan eventually marked that the retainers were pretending not to notice his gestures to pour him more wine. Annoyed with what he suspected to be parental interference, he rose to do it himself despite Erestor’s suggestion that he practice some restraint. 

The counsellor watched him corner the wine steward and demand that he refill his cup. Erestor pursed his lips when he saw Glorfindel leave Elrond’s side to intercept Elladan as the young Elf headed back.

He did not blatantly block Elladan’s way but rather crossed in front of him then half turned as if he had only just noticed him and thought to speak with him, staying him with a light tap on his arm. Not that anyone watching would not guess what he had to say. But Glorfindel was not one to humiliate others in public if he could help it.

“I think you are drinking more than is wise,” the captain murmured. “Your parents are a little concerned.”

“And did they send you to keep an eye on me?” Elladan retorted. “I am no child whose virtue needs guarding nor are you a nursemaid whose only function is to keep errant Elflings from stumbling.”

Glorfindel’s eyebrows rose at the acerbic reply. “That you are a grown Elf is a foregone conclusion, but whether your virtue needs no guarding is still debatable,” he dryly commented. He paused briefly to allow Elladan’s currently less than quick wits to process the sentence. “Rest assured your parents have naught to do with my intervention; only my sympathy for them that they should have to witness their eldest and heir promising to make a fool of himself in front of everyone.”

Elladan bristled. “I am not anywhere near intoxicated, Glorfindel, if that is what you are implying.”

“But you are obviously looking for courage in the bottom of a wine cup.”

“And if I am? I need not be drunk in order to be emboldened enough to seek my desire.”

Forehead creasing in reproof, Glorfindel said: “Take heed, _hîr neth_ ”—young lord—“lest you test someone past the point of prudence ere you are ready for it.”

“Is anyone ever truly ready?” Elladan challenged. “And at least, if this should result in some action being taken, then there will be something for me to consider being ready for!”

Glorfindel rolled his eyes. “Do not say I did not warn you,” he reminded Elladan before walking away.

Elladan glared at his back until he rejoined Elrond and Celebrían. He realized then that his mother was watching him with concern and he flushed with embarrassment at being caught regarding anyone with incivility. Particularly one as kind and well loved as Imladris’s captain. Chagrined, he averted his gaze and hastened back to Erestor.

The counsellor looked surprised, his dark eyes darting toward Elrond and company. Elladan wondered if Erestor had thought he would back off after having been chided by Glorfindel. For there could be no other conclusion one could make about the captain’s short but somber chat with him.

But Erestor’s smile returned as soon as Elladan sat beside him once more. He did look pointedly at the younger Elf’s once more full cup however.

“That is the last one, I hope,” he commented. “There is a thin line between being pleasantly relaxed and shamelessly soused.”

Elladan chuckled. “This will be the last, I promise. Besides, I would prove terrible company if I collapsed insensible onto your lap from a surfeit of drink.”

He dropped a hand on the counsellor’s knee. Erestor shook his head and a hint of warning tinged his voice though his smile did not vanish. “I should hope not,” he said. “But I think you are already on the verge of it. Else you would realize that a public gathering is not the best place to tryst with anyone.”

Erestor’s words were akin to being doused with a bucket’s worth of ice water. Reflexively, Elladan looked around and noticed for the first time the furtive and interested scrutiny of those nearby. His cheeks flared with color and heat.

“Elbereth!” he said under his breath. He glanced at Erestor and saw that the counsellor was looking almost apologetically in his parents’ direction. Elladan’s mortification deepened and he lowered his eyes for several minutes as he fought to calm his suddenly clamoring nerves. “I am so sorry, Erestor,” he whispered at last. “I never meant to cause you offense.”

“‘Twas not I you offended,” Erestor softly replied.

Elladan groaned. “I think I had better retire to my quarters,” he muttered, rising to his feet.

“Aye, that would be best,” Erestor agreed, his attention returning to Elladan. “You do need more privacy for what you have in mind, _pen neth_ ”—young one—he added with a faint smirk.

Elladan’s eyes widened. He stammered out a goodnight and just barely managed not to bolt from the hall. 

With every unsteady step, his mind cleared somewhat of its drink-induced fuzziness. And with that returned his strong sense of decorum. He became progressively flustered as he remembered his outrageous behavior even as he wondered if Erestor would respond to his flirtation. 

Eru preserve him if the counsellor did, he thought, sobriety firmly taking root once more. There would be the devil to pay if things got out of control and no one to blame but Elladan himself.

Hardly had he entered his chamber and closed the door behind him when he was brusquely thrust against it and pinned to it by a body of greater height, breadth and strength than his. 

Before he could so much as squawk in protest, he was silenced by a possessive, ravaging kiss. His coherence reduced to near nonexistence, he was half thrilled and half alarmed to hear the bolt sliding into place behind him.

When he was sufficiently subdued, his visitor drew back and he found himself gazing into smoldering ocean-hued eyes.

“I warned you not to test me overmuch,” Glorfindel growled. “Now you must pay the consequences.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone still recalls the earlier ficlet, [**_Priceless_**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1671812), consider a certain event in that piece a foreshadowing of this story arc. I simply could not resist.


	25. Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel takes matters into his own hands and makes Elladan’s choice for him.

**Prompt: And**

Elladan cried out as he was relentlessly speared and filled, shocked by the sheer girth and length of the flesh he had often thought of sheathing. 

It was one thing to imagine the pains and pleasures of bodily intimacy; very much another to actually spread one’s self beneath an Elf of Glorfindel’s magnificence and yield to his passion. He clutched at Glorfindel’s arms, quite unable to take a deep breath, his body rocking with every lunge of the captain’s hips against him.

Crimson bruises marked his skin from throat to groin to straining thighs. His back bore similar signs of ravishment all the way to his bottom, which Glorfindel had readied for his taking with all the care due an innocent in bed and all the haste expected of one whose patience was at an end. Elladan could not decide which had unmanned him more swiftly: the plunge of a questing tongue tasting deeply of him or long slick fingers stroking and stretching him from within. 

What had alarmed yet excited him was the knowledge that he was being prepared to take another Elf into his body. And an Elf of spectacular endowment at that.

Gone, however, was his previous resistance to it. Glorfindel had not given him a chance to think clearly once he sealed their mouths together in Elladan’s first kiss. Indeed, Elladan had no clear memory of their progress from door to bed.

All he recalled were motion and sensation. Of being laid down and hands skillfully stripping him, scalding kisses to mouth and cheeks and neck distracting him so effectively, he had not thought to protest, much less struggle against the removal of his clothing. Once Glorfindel set his lips and teeth to work on the flesh he bared, any lingering rational thought fled until all that remained was a blur of pleasure limned with moments of fright that perversely enough only heightened his enjoyment of whatever Glorfindel did to him.

It was an object lesson in the dangers of teasing an Elf who had died while vanquishing a demon, walked the Halls of Mandos until he was deemed fit to be reborn, then returned to the madcap way of life in the Hither Lands and survived it a second time. 

Elladan wondered whether he could withstand mating with such a one as Rivendell’s mercurial captain. A particularly deep thrust left him incoherent with ecstasy and decided him to make Glorfindel his to the end of time.

Only an idiot would forego being loved so thoroughly. While Elrond’s older son might accept that he could have been more judicious in his manner of winning himself the resident Balrog slayer, he would never admit to being an idiot.

Glorfindel gripped his swollen length and stroked it as possessively as his own shaft repeatedly cleaved Elladan’s backside. Within moments, completion flooded Elladan, sweeping away every last vestige of fear or inhibition. 

He did not recall keening himself hoarse but his throat did feel strained afterward. What he did remember was sobbing breathlessly as the aftershocks of his climax slowly faded, bucking up instinctively to meet the last of Glorfindel’s nigh bruising thrusts and happily wrapping his arms around the captain when Glorfindel spent himself generously inside him.

“Mine,” Elladan thought in bliss, holding onto Glorfindel tightly.

“Aye, yours,” Glorfindel agreed.

Elladan started and stared at Glorfindel. Had he spoken out loud? Glorfindel’s slightly amused grin affirmed that he had.

“Are you really?” Elladan whispered, uncertain of a sudden.

Glorfindel sighed and gently pulled out of him. Using a discarded shirt, he wiped their bellies clean of Elladan’s spending and his own seed from Elladan’s thighs and bottom. He then lay back and drew Elladan into his arms.

“I think I belonged to you from the day of your birth,” he said. He chuckled when he was rewarded with a radiant smile. “But ‘twas only when you ceased being a child that I realized it. That you are also your father’s son complicated matters somewhat.”

“Did you think it improper to court me?” Elladan asked curiously.

“Courtship alone would not have been improper,” Glorfindel said. “But I knew it would not end there. Had you yielded so much as a kiss to me, I would not have been able to stop myself from claiming more, your father’s wrath be damned. And even if I could have controlled myself, well, one does not plot to seduce his lord’s son. Particularly if said son does not care to be seduced.”

Elladan stared at him. “Not care to be—! Glorfindel, I would have been thrilled had you hauled me into your office, bent me over your desk and buggered me into the next century!”

Glorfindel snickered. “So say you now that you have sheathed me and found that you enjoy it. Nay, my Elladan, I could see how reluctant you were to yield yourself to anyone. Which was only natural given who you are. I preferred to bide my time until I knew for certain that you were ready. What I did not expect was your method of letting me know that you were!”

A blush stained Elladan’s cheeks. “Oh, that…” he mumbled. A moment later, he huffed and said a trifle defiantly, “Really, it served you right.”

A golden eyebrow rose questioningly. “I beg your pardon?”

Elladan shifted embarrassedly but he did not retreat. “It must not have been too hard biding your time when you had Erestor to help you pass it,” he muttered. At Glorfindel’s puzzled reaction, Elladan blurted, “You cannot deny it. I saw the two of you some nights ago. He was waiting for you in your room and you did not resist his invitation to...“ Elladan looked away. “I know you had lovers before me but I never imagined Erestor was one of them or that you would keep company with him when you knew that I— that I…” 

He trailed off, suddenly feeling foolish. “I am sorry, I have no right to dictate what you can or cannot do. We are not even betrothed, much less wed, and you are free to do as you wish with whomever you wish. I—”

Glorfindel cut him off with a lengthy, breath-stealing kiss that made him forget what he was going to say.

“Your imagination outstrips reality, _pen neth_ ”—young one—Glorfindel said when they drew apart. “I will not deny it, I have had lovers before you. Aye, Erestor was one of them. We could meet each other’s needs and still be friends after. That was a gift neither of us refused. But I will deny that I shared my bed with him or any other since I realized I was meant for you alone. Verily, this is the first time in twenty two years that I have coupled with anyone.”

Shocked silence met his declaration. “But–but I saw you,” Elladan sputtered at length. “That night, he— You—”

Glorfindel shook his head. “I was particularly needful that day and he sensed it. And being the good friend that he is, he offered to assuage it. But I declined and we ended up drinking and talking for the better part of the night instead. I had come to the point that no body but yours could sate mine. And no one but you could make me feel whole.” 

He suddenly rolled Elladan beneath him. “And after more than a score of years' waiting, a single coupling simply will not do,” he huskily informed his surprised lover.

Elladan whimpered. Whether it was out of anticipation or apprehension even he could not ascertain. But of one thing he was sure. Elrohir would have much to say when he returned and found his brother unable to sit for any reasonable length of time.


	26. Yearning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The longing for union goes beyond bodily need when the heart and spirit have been freely offered and received.

**Prompt: Not Enough**

“By Elbereth, what offense have I committed to be tormented so!”

Elrohir glanced at his twin, noting his fixed glower, which had naught to do with simple frustration but pointed to something more perilous. He looked back at the training yard where two golden-haired warriors sparred before a large audience of enthralled Elves. 

Glorfindel was in fine form as usual but Legolas was a huge surprise to those who thought Wood-elves little versed in the use of the sword.

They presented a breathtaking sight, these two splendid specimens of beauty, strength and masculine grace. Elrohir felt a familiar tightening in his groin as he watched Legolas. He was certain Elladan was experiencing the same thing with regard to Glorfindel. There was no mistaking the suppressed desire in his brother’s eyes. 

So why the accompanying emotion that seemed almost like anger?

“You are in love with a most estimable Elf,” Elrohir mildly said. “That is hardly an offense, Elladan.”

“Then why am I being punished?” Elladan retorted.

“Punished? How?”

“By having to wait forty years.”

“For what?”

“An end to waiting.”

Elrohir blinked. “Have you been sampling the contents of the wine cellar? That made no sense at all!”

Elladan snorted, then turned and stalked back to the house. Elrohir stared after him, wondering at his dark mood. But loath to miss any part of his visiting lover’s impressive performance, he did not follow. Elladan would come to him if he wanted to share his concerns.

Sure enough, he had hardly returned to his quarters afterward when his brother showed up. As soon as he shut the door behind him, Elladan abruptly said: “I asked Glorfindel to bind to me.”

The Elf-knight caught his breath. “And?” he prodded, expecting a tale of rejection and woe.

“He said yes,” Elladan replied.

Elrohir stared at him, surprised and perplexed. “Then why are you—”

“When I reach my hundredth year.”

There was a pause. “That is all?” Elrohir finally said.

”That is all?” Elladan repeated. “Elrohir, he is asking me to wait again!”

The younger twin shook his head. “I do not understand why you are so perturbed.”

Elladan threw his hands up. “Two score years!” he exclaimed. “I waited so long only to find my waiting is not done.”

“Do you know why?” Elrohir cautiously asked.

“He wants me to be sure,” Elladan flatly stated. “As if I need more time to be certain of my feelings!”

That tweaked a memory. Elrohir recalled a conversation many years ago when Elladan had thought the captain unobtainable. And all because Glorfindel had counselled another young Elf to forego marriage until he had matured a little more.

“He had better think twice if he thinks I will put up with such idiotic notions,” Elladan sniffed.

“You told him?” Elrohir asked in faint horror.

“Aye. He should know my mind on this.”

Elrohir rolled his eyes. “Really, Elladan, must you make a mountain out of a molehill?” he remarked. Before his brother could protest, he barrelled on. “Glorfindel has agreed to bind to you and you still find cause to complain? You should count yourself blessed beyond compare instead of dwelling on so inconsequential a thing as a delay in getting your wish granted!”

Elladan bristled at his twin’s reproachful tone. “And wouldn’t you?” he challenged. “I want our future together assured. I do not care for uncertainty, which seems to be the Peredhil’s lot in life.”

“Don’t be silly. Uncertainty is everyone’s lot in life.”

“But there is nothing wrong with wanting it diminished in some things. Or are you saying you are content with your infrequent trysts with Legolas?” Elladan challenged. Absorbed in his feelings, he missed the warning light in his twin’s eyes. “Surely it riles you that you have no set date of eternal togetherness to look forward to. I cannot believe so fitful a liaison is enough for you, Elrohir.”

“Of course it is not enough!” Elrohir snapped. “But it is far, far better than _not_ having anything at all. At least, he is mine today even if he cannot offer me forever.”

Silence fell upon them, Elrohir glaring at his brother with mingled umbrage and wistfulness, Elladan staring back in sudden abashment and fast growing remorse. After several tense seconds, he reached out an apologetic hand. Thankfully, Elrohir accepted it.

“Not just yet,” Elladan quietly said. “But one day, he will. I know he will.” He squeezed Elrohir’s hand. “I am sorry. That was thoughtless of me, complaining when I have almost everything while you must make do with…” He stopped, fearful that he was on the verge of offending his brother again.

Elrohir wanly smiled. “I know you did so out of deep yearning and not due to a lack of consideration for me,” he assured his twin. “And I certainly do not begrudge you your good fortune. I am happy for you and wish you everlasting joy when Glorfindel claims you in full.”

“And I wish you likewise when Legolas is free to do the same for you,” Elladan said. He pulled Elrohir into a quick tight hug. “Thank you. I will go to Glorfindel now. I pray he will not make me work too hard for his forgiveness.”

Elrohir chuckled. “I dare say there is one sure way to gain that. But it will entail putting your backside to good use for the rest of the day.”

Elladan blushed and lightly punched his arm. But a gleam lit his grey eyes and when he departed, a grin curved his mouth.

The younger twin’s smile faded and he sighed. Waves of pensiveness washed over him, threatening to overwhelm him with sorrow and frustration much as Elladan had been earlier. Until strong arms slid around him from behind and he was pulled back against a strong yet lithe Wood-elf’s body.

“There will come a day when it will be more than enough,” Legolas murmured. “Trust me, my Elf-knight.”

Elrohir leaned into the archer’s embrace. A soft kiss brushed his cheek. Turning his face, he whispered against Legolas’s lips.

“Always.”

*******************************************  
Glossary:  
lairë - Quenya for summer  
Peredhil - Half-elves or Half-elven


	27. Collusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The granting of certain wishes sometimes entails unorthodox means.

**Prompt: Winter**

The view from Elrohir’s bedchamber balcony was a wondrous one. Beyond the gardens underneath their blanket of snow were the enclosing hills around the vale, all frosted in white, the pristine hues broken only by sturdy shrubs and dramatically shorn trees save for the evergreen pines. But even so lovely a scene could not compare with the splendid sight Elrohir awakened to most mornings this winter. 

In the Elf-knight’s opinion, nothing could compare to the spill of pale gold hair on his pillows, the splay of strong, lean limbs on his sheets or the spread of glorious white skin swathing a supple, muscular body upon his bed. Best of all was a face so comely and elegant yet covertly sensual and hinting at mischief that even the faintest trace of a smile was enough to take Elrohir’s breath away.

No, nothing could surpass the beauty and grace of Legolas Thranduilion as far as Elrohir was concerned. 

He bent to press an affectionate kiss to the Wood-elf’s slightly parted lips. And gasped when he was abruptly drawn down into a decidedly unchaste kiss of considerable length. 

When Legolas released him, his heartbeat had quickened. It continued to speed up when he espied the suggestive gleam in his lover’s eyes. And just about galloped when an enterprising hand purposely slid southwards. 

“I thought you were still asleep,” he moaned as he was gripped and stroked.

Legolas chuckled, the husky sound making Elrohir forget aught else but his imminent undoing. 

“The mere scent of you is enough to rouse me from slumber,” the prince murmured against a rosy cheek. “What more a kiss from so lovely an Elf?”

“I am not lovely!” Elrohir indignantly protested, unable to disassociate the adjective from female pulchritude.

“Beautiful then,” Legolas amended. “And delectable. And oh so very primed for the taking.” He rolled Elrohir onto his back. “For _my_ taking.”

The younger Elf had but a glimpse of long fingers smoothing the combined cream of their emerging seed over flushed and hardened flesh before his bottom was lifted and his thighs parted for a slow, deep piercing. He shuddered with the pleasure of it and the thrill of being so thoroughly owned. He would need to cushion his backside when he sat down to breakfast. He had been doing so nearly every morning this year’s summer and autumn. And he would likely go on doing so for the whole of winter. 

Never in his most fevered hopes had he ever expected to know three seasons worth of Legolas’s loving.

He raised a fist to his mouth to smother the sounds he inevitably made when taking an impressively endowed Elven prince up his backside. But Legolas pulled his hand away, jewel eyes glittering in the dim morning light.

“Your voice is as music to me, Elf-knight,” he said. “Especially when you spend yourself. You will not deny me the pleasure of hearing you sing your ecstasy.”

Elrohir groaned. Legolas had a way even with words!

He still tried to stifle the harsh sobs that escaped his lips as he was ridden hard or the choked screams that broke from him with each particularly deep thrust. To no avail. Legolas drew a litany of pleas and cries from him as they began to scale the heights to completion.

Desperate, he wrapped his hand around his straining length to stroke himself. An instant later, he felt Legolas weave his fingers with his. The stimulation coupled with the repeated plunge of Legolas’s thick shaft into him proved too much. With a strangled keen he broke and their bellies and groins were generously dappled with pearlescent seed. 

In the midst of his throes, he heard Legolas lose himself in rapture. Warmth flooded his innards and he moaned at this evidence of their coupling. Neither knowledge nor sensation of Legolas’s spending inside him ever palled and he fervently prayed he would have the pleasure of it for a long, long time to come. Or if the fates were kind, forevermore.

Afterward, they lay snugly spooned together, heedless of the creamy smears on their skin. Elrohir sighed contentedly as Legolas trailed kisses along his shoulders and up the side of his neck to his ears.

“Elrohir _nîn_ ,” the archer whispered. My Elf-knight.

Much later, as he dropped by his father’s study to spend a few hours with his family—for a change, Elladan had teased him—Elrohir considered the chain of events that had led to Legolas extending his stay in Imladris. 

Glorfindel had returned from the first of his autumnal patrols to report a marked increase in orkish infestation of the Misty Mountains and the foothills of the great range. Elrond had cautioned Legolas against attempting a return to his land through so perilous a path. Even an escort of Elf-warriors was no guarantee of safe passage over the mountains to the east. A letter dispatched to Thranduil by courier bird had elicited an agreement from the Elvenking that it would be best for his son to remain in Imladris until the onset of winter when the orcs retreated to their holes and hibernated the cold season away. 

But come the start of winter, an early and heavy snowfall had caused blockage of the mountain passes. Once again, Legolas perforce delayed his return home and Elrohir found himself happily stuck with his lover’s company for nigh three seasons running.

The Elf-knight was neither so selfish nor indifferent to rejoice in occurrences that could cause harm or hardship for those whose lives and livelihoods involved regularly crossing the mountains. But he did believe that even the stormiest clouds carried silver linings and that one being’s misfortune could be another’s great luck. Certainly, he would not deny feeling overly blessed to have Legolas in residence for so long due to the aforementioned sequence of unfortunate circumstances. 

Entering Elrond’s study, he found his parents seated within along with his twin and, unsurprising now that he and Elladan were betrothed, Glorfindel. They welcomed him and Elladan cheekily asked if he needed daily reminding of the existence of other Elves in the valley or that a few of them were actually related to him. Elrohir threw a cushion at him then settled in the small corner sofa, his cheeks nicely colored but his lips threatening to break into a grin.

“Hush, Elladan, your brother’s preoccupation is quite understandable,” Celebrían mildly chided. She looked at her younger son. “I trust you are enjoying yourself this winter?”

“Very much, _Nana_ ”—Mama—Elrohir said. His eyes sparkling, he added: “I know I should not think thus but, verily, for once I am glad orcs breed so speedily.” He looked a tad sheepishly at Glorfindel. “I confess, when you reported that it would be too dangerous for Legolas to cross the mountains, I thought it cause for celebration. I know you had naught to do with it but I felt like thanking you nonetheless just for being the bearer of such good news.” 

Glorfindel grinned. “Well, I could not gainsay the wishes of my lord and lady,” he said.

“Gainsay… What do you—” Seeing the twinkle in Glorfindel’s eyes, Elrohir’s own widened. Elladan’s smirk confirmed his budding suspicions. Elrohir turned to stare at his parents. “Then the report of increased orkish activity was false?”

“Of course not,” Elrond briskly replied. “Glorfindel would never utter a lie even at my command. He merely…”

“Exaggerated the extent of the problem,” Celebrían finished for her husband. 

“But the report of the closure of the mountain passes was accurate,” Glorfindel assured a dumbfounded Elf-knight. “The need for Legolas to spend the winter here is completely warranted. It seems the fates have seen fit to conspire with you, Elrohir.” 

When the younger twin gaped at him, Elladan quipped, “Well, it was your hope, was it not, that Legolas would lengthen his visit.”

Elrohir regarded them with wonder. “Aye, it was,” he admitted. A moment later, he frowned worriedly. “But what will Legolas say should he learn of this deception?”

“He said it was very well played out and that he did not guess at the truth until lately,” Elrond said, chuckling softly at Elrohir’s stunned reaction. “And he thanked us heartily for it. It seemed he had been looking for a good excuse to lengthen his visit and we provided him with it. Am I right, Legolas?”

Elrohir turned with a start to see Legolas enter the study. The archer sat beside him with a smile.

“You are, Lord Elrond,” he said. He curled an arm around Elrohir and drew him closer. “And if the fates are indeed in collusion with us, the passes will remain blocked longer than their wont.” He grinned at a speechless Elf-knight. “I may be forced to abide here until well past spring thaw.”

“That is possible,” Celebrîan agreed. She looked at Elrohir with spurious repentance. “I hope you do not mind our meddling in your affairs, dearest.”

For several seconds, Elrohir could only gawk. And then he collected himself and shook his head in awe.

“Mind?” he exclaimed. “By Elbereth, we should all be blessed with such a talent!”


	28. Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whether the passage of time feels slow or fast oft has to do with what one is waiting for.

**Prompt: Hours**

Imladris, Midsummer T.A. 240  
“Treading a rut into the floor will not make the hours fly by any faster, Elladan. Nor will looking at the sky every few minutes. The sun will set at its accustomed time and your incessant fidgeting and pacing is just making you fraught. Do sit down and get your nerves in order!”

For a moment, Elrohir thought he would have to manhandle his twin into complying. But thankfully, Elladan ceased his restless toing and froing and settled on the edge of his bed. He was not exactly a picture of complete calm but it was better than his frazzled behavior earlier. He picked at his sleeves then combed his fingers through his dark tresses. He pulled at a strand and glared at it.

“I still do not know whether I should braid my hair or leave it be,” he muttered. “Ah, Elrohir, what should I do? I want to look my best!”

“Of course you do,” Elrohir soothed. “But all this fretting is of no help. You have to becalm yourself else you will be a wreck before you even present yourself to Glorfindel.”

Elladan turned such alarmed eyes on him that Elrohir groaned. 

“Glorfindel will think you glorious!” he insisted. “Sweet Elbereth! Has he ever thought you anything less than delectable in all these years? You’ve shown up enough times at the breakfast table barely able to sit through a meal, so ardently has he shown you just how much he adores you!” 

Elladan’s cheeks turned a nice shade of red but his groin displayed no sign of embarrassment. Indeed, a burgeoning bulge alerted Elrohir to yet another addition to Elladan’s discomfort. 

Elrohir had to grin at his brother’s plight. Well, it was difficult to school one’s self when faced with the prospect of warming the bed of Rivendell’s valiant captain. Especially when one had done so countless times before and knew what it was like to couple with so splendid an Elf.

He sat down beside Elladan and clapped a hand on his shoulder. 

“Just two more hours, brother. Take heart, it will soon be over and he will be yours. For good,” he added with a smile.

That brought an answering smile to Elladan’s lips. He relaxed fractionally.

“I am glad my waiting is done,” he said. A moment later, he frowned and tensed once more. “Would that yours were, too.” He looked shamefacedly at Elrohir. “A pox on me to worry so when my dearest wish is about to be granted while you—“

“Hush, Elladan,” Elrohir gently cut him off. “How ridiculous of you to deride yourself just because you have gained your desire sooner. Our situations are completely different and not to be compared in any way.”

Elladan pursed his lips then nodded. He took a deep breath and said, “So—what should I do about this unruly mop of mine?”

Elrohir shook his head. Unruly or not, Elladan’s hair could in no way be likened to a mop. He had oft seen Glorfindel run his fingers through the lustrous black locks, a look of equal parts awe and delight on his face. 

“I think you should braid your hair,” he counselled. “Just to give Glorfindel the pleasure of undoing it before he unwraps you for the night.”

“What in Arda has Legolas done to you?” Elladan exclaimed. “You were never so salty of tongue before he came along.”

The Elf-knight laughed. “The potential was always there. He just unloosed my tongue, that is all.”

“Not to mention your concupiscence,” Elladan said with a chuckle.

He suddenly became aware of red gold light dappling the bedcovers, spreading toward him and Elrohir. He glanced over his shoulder toward the balcony. 

“The sun is setting,” he murmured.

“Then you should start getting ready,” Elrohir said.

Almost as soon as he finished speaking, the door opened and Celebrían entered. She came toward her sons, extending a swath of luminous white fabric to Elladan.

“As promised, your father’s own wedding attire,” she smilingly informed him. “Worn to honor his brother’s memory.” 

Elladan caught his breath and quickly rose to his feet. 

“Thank you, _Nana_.”

Celebrían eased the garment over his arms and shoulders then fastened its elaborate clasps. She and Elrohir stood back to admire the result. 

The tunic was from another place and era. Cut in the style of ancient Númenor, it was knee-length and close-fitting with a low neckline and long sleeves that flared slightly at the wrist, revealing Elladan’s cunningly embroidered shirt and hose-clad legs. On one shoulder, a star had been sewn in silver purl and embellished with tiny crystal beads so that it glimmered in the light. The star’s rays ran from chest to waist in a spray of silver and more crystal beading. A low belt of gleaming _mithril_ links and square-cut diamonds completed the ensemble.

Elladan turned to stare at himself in the mirror. His eyes widened at the vision that met his eyes.

“Valar…” he murmured.

Celebrían laid a hand on his elbow. “Come, let us decide how to do your hair, dearest,” she said. “Do you wish to leave it loose or to plait it?”

Elladan glanced at his brother, then smirked. “I should like to plait it.”

* * * *

They gathered in the garden just as the stars began to come out. Every Elf of the Last Homely House and then some came to bear witness to the binding of Elrond’s eldest to the warrior who commanded the valley’s military force.

Elrohir stifled a snicker when his brother could not look Glorfindel in the eye even as they uttered their vows. But how could he when the captain gazed at him with such abiding love and unabashed lust that Elladan must have felt himself stripped bare before everyone. 

Indeed, Elladan wondered why he had been in such a hurry to get on with it. Suddenly, it seemed the hours were going much too swiftly, speeding toward the moment when Glorfindel would claim him not merely as lover but as his eternal mate. Eru help him, the warrior was going to be very thorough about it if the glitter in his eyes was any indication of his intent.

“It is only to be expected,” Elrond had told his sons earlier as they made their way to the garden. “The wedding of spirits unleashes a need for bodily union that is nigh unquenchable for a long while after.”

“How long?” Elladan had asked, then rued knowing the answer.

His father shrugged. “Oh, a few centuries or so.”

“Cen-centuries?” 

“Of course, the lust abates somewhat as time goes on,” Elrond continued. “Twice contents most Elves when their passion relents, or even once when time is at a premium.”

“Weekly?” Elrohir ventured.

Elrond almost looked scandalized. “Of course not,” he snorted. “Daily.”

The twins exchanged looks of amazement. _Wherever did wedded Elves find the time to do other things such as build cities and the like?_

Elladan was abruptly yanked back to the present when Glorfindel pulled him into his arms and bestowed a kiss of such fervency, he thought his mother’s garden would go up in flames. Released from Glorfindel’s embrace afterward, Elladan could only woozily lean against the captain’s broad chest. Glorfindel’s next words served to addle his brain even more.

_“Finally. Mine and mine alone.”_

The rest of the festivities passed in a blur. Elladan’s first clear recollection of the evening after the binding rites was standing by their conjugal bed while Glorfindel unravelled his braids with a reverence that was as tender as it was sensual. His restraint was nowhere in evidence however when it came to ridding Elladan of his finery.

In less time than he’d thought possible, Elladan found himself pressed into the mattress, spread-eagled for Glorfindel’s pleasure. And take his pleasure Glorfindel did with a diligence that left Elladan giddy with sensation. 

Perhaps Elladan would learn to master his magnificent spouse as well. But not tonight. And so he helplessly and so very happily bore the brunt of Glorfindel’s hunger.

The stroke of heated hands. The slide of probing fingers. The suck of a warm mouth. Elladan was steadily undone until he was all but pleading for mercy. Offered Glorfindel’s shaft to further ready him, he eagerly drew on it as avidly as Glorfindel dipped his tongue into his backside. So well did he tend his spouse’s shaft that Glorfindel came perilously close to spending.

The captain pulled him up with a growl and rolled him onto his belly. Elladan gasped as his buttocks were brusquely parted. The gasp evolved into a series of moans as hard flesh entered him in one smooth plunge. He buried his face in the pillow, trying to smother his too audible reactions to Glorfindel’s relentless ingress into his body.

“Nay, I want to hear you,” Glorfindel huskily said. He coaxed Elladan onto his hands and knees.

Glorfindel’s pace continued unabated, every lunge of his hips plunging him deep into his Peredhel mate. With every inward stroke, Elladan felt the flaring of ecstasy. And a strange and wondrous spiralling of bliss like no other he had ever known before.

“Glorfindel?” he quavered.

“Do not fight it, my heart,” the warrior enjoined him. “Feel the joy of our spirits’ binding.”

He reached around to grip Elladan’s straining shaft. Elladan cried out as his pleasure promptly rose another notch. Shaking now, he almost frantically pushed back against Glorfindel, actively abetting his piercing. 

Completion came swiftly for both of them after that. And as their rapture peaked, so were they swept into that otherworldly plane of oneness that only wedded Elves experienced. Neither could later recall how long it lasted; they only knew that it was intense and unforgettable. 

Elladan finally understood the almost irresistible urge of mated Elves to join their bodies in sexual communion.

Afterward, they lay close together in sated felicity. Glorfindel pressed a kiss to Elladan’s damp brow. 

“I hear you could scarcely bear the wait for our binding to take place,” he murmured. “Elrohir says you counted the days until this moment.”

“Not just the days but hours,” Elladan admitted with a smile.

Glorfindel chuckled. “You may rue your eagerness come morning. My hunger for you seems to have grown a hundredfold.”

He smoothed a palm over Elladan’s well-used backside. One finger lazily traced its way down the crease of the twin’s bottom before insinuating itself between and inward. Elladan arched against Glorfindel as pleasure radiated from the point of invasion.

“And mine twice that,” he replied, caught between a laugh and a moan. “What think you? Can you satisfy this Peredhel?”

In answer, Glorfindel rolled them over and pinned Elladan to the bed. “Is that a challenge?” he demanded.

Elladan grinned impishly. “Nay, beloved. ‘Tis my hope.”


	29. Restive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The imminence of a long awaited reunion stokes the ever glowing embers of impatience into a steady blaze.

**Prompt: Orange**

_Yavië_ T.A. 299  
What remained of the thinning canopy of the ancient wood east of the Anduin was a veritable palette of warm colors while the forest floor was carpeted with the burnt hues of autumn. When leaf-fall came to Greenwood the Great, lush verdancy gave way to a riot of red and bronze, belying the reason for the forest’s name. But Legolas paid scant attention as he rode to the forest edge on its western bounds.

It was not that he did not appreciate the beauty of his woodland home as it changed with the seasons. The Wood-elves did not take their forest for granted even after countless years lived amongst the sheltering trees. But their love for it could be divided if the distraction was potent enough. Legolas doubted there could be a distraction more potent than the ample graces of the Elf who haunted his thoughts as ably as he had warmed his bed.

The clench of the archer’s fingers in his horse’s mane was telling. As was his testiness these many days past. 

So edgy had he been that few dared to approach him for fear of a tongue-lashing. Legolas was even-tempered as a rule but when he let loose his anger, it was best to stay out of his way. It was fortunate none save his king-father had made the connection between his ill humor and the letter he had received just the previous week.

After nearly a hundred years, he would meet Elrohir once more.

Unfortunately, a century’s worth of waiting coming to a sudden end had manifested itself in impatience of such proportions it had rendered him irritable enough for any ten Elves. It was with a collective sigh of relief that the royal household watched him ride away from his father’s halls.

Let Elrond’s son deal with their prince’s irascible mood, they said. Hopefully, entertaining a guest would sweeten his temper and they would not need to walk on eggshells around him any longer. Thranduil was amused no end when he got wind of the talk. 

The subject of said talk strove to control his vexation as he neared the edge of the wood. It would not do to greet Elrohir while still in such a state and make him question whether he was welcome. Legolas did not care to have misunderstandings mar their reunion. 

He could only imagine how his young lover had grown. In all this time, he’d only had Elrohir’s letters and the occasional report from messengers to give him an idea of how the twins were faring. They would have matured considerably but not so much that they would have left all vestiges of youth behind. Just as Elladan though wed these many years was very much Glorfindel’s junior in almost every way, Elrohir would still be a stripling to Legolas’s many-centuries-old Elf.

But he is Peredhel, Legolas reminded himself. And the Half-elven were not entirely alike to pure-blooded Elves anymore than they could be mistaken for Men. So there was every chance Elrohir might have changed far more than Legolas anticipated.

“I remember when I first met Elrond; when your grandsire and I still abided in Lindon,” Thranduil had once recounted to him. “I mistook him for one of the Exiles, so much older did he seem than what I’d been expecting of the Half-elven.”

“Elrond does not look old,” Legolas mildly objected.

“I did not say he looked old; only that it felt that way to me,” Thranduil corrected him. “‘Twas not how he appeared that misled me but rather the way he regarded the people around him, even the High King himself. As if he knew what they hid in their heart of hearts. And pitied them for their sorrows and their sins. His brother Elros was the same.”

Legolas reined in his mount. Glancing over his shoulder, he whistled three times. From far behind, a set of answering whistles faintly sounded. He grimly smiled. 

The forest folk did not like stepping outside the bounds of Eryn Galen if they could help it, not even the Elves who guarded the secret path and watched for trespassers. The decimation of Wood-elves during the last war had made them even more reluctant to leave the confines of the forest. The sentries had been more than relieved when he instructed them to remain within. 

He glanced up at the lowering sun. The horizon was awash with the brilliant shades of a day coming to its end. He pursed his lips.

Scouts had previously reported a small contingent of Elves descending the eastern face of the Misty Mountains. By Legolas’s calculation, Elrohir’s party would arrive this day before nightfall. Barring any unforeseen problems along the way of course. Legolas hoped that was not the case.

Just as he was thinking about whether he would have to encamp for the night here at the forest edge, he spotted riders in the distance, dark figures against the slowly failing light. He peered at them searchingly. An instant later, he smiled when he recognized the colors and markings of Imladris.

It did not take long before the group neared him enough that he could tell them apart. The lead rider broke away, urging his steed toward the Elf-prince with noticeable eagerness. Legolas grinned.

Whatever else might have changed in a hundred years, the Elf-knight’s demeanor with the archer had not. Worshipful grey eyes swept over him while a radiant smile evinced Elrohir’s joy at seeing him once more. Legolas appreciatively appraised the younger Elf.

Elrohir was the same in some ways. He was still the heartbreakingly beautiful Elf who had entranced Legolas from the start. And though he had grown taller he had not filled out just yet to the stately brawn of a Noldorin warrior and thus bore traces of the willowy youth of memory. But in other ways, he was different. 

His mannish heritage had grown more evident in his countenance, the warmer cast of his skin and slightly meatier than elven frame. He was lissome but not ethereal and his finely sculpted features did not evoke the inaccessibility many mortals associated with the Elves. His was a cool beauty, not a remote one.

They reached across the space between their steeds and clasped hands. What a pity they could not greet each other in more intimate fashion, Legolas thought. Not here where his people might espy their affection. He glanced at Elrohir’s companions and wondered what they would make of his manner with Elrohir after having witnessed their warmth with one another in Rivendell.

“They understand that customs vary,” Elrohir assured him.

“And doubtless ‘twas you who schooled them thusly,” Legolas said. He briefly tightened his hold on Elrohir’s hand before reluctantly letting go. “So sage and politic already.”

Elrohir smiled. “We do what we must.” His smile turned wistful. “I missed you.”

“Likewise.” Legolas ruefully grinned. “But waiting for your arrival proved far more a trial than bearing through the years of your absence.”

“How so?” Elrohir asked in surprise.

“My store of patience ran out very swiftly once I knew you were coming. I have been ill-tempered and terrible company since your letter arrived. Never has a departure been so lauded as mine was when I rode out to meet you.”

Though Elrohir laughed, his eyes sparkled not with mirth but with pure and honest affection.

“I am here now.”

His voice had dropped to a silky murmur, promising Legolas more than convivial company during his visit.

The archer's impatience abruptly returned in full.


	30. Lacking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Elrohir bears with ill-founded beliefs about him, Legolas discovers a sea change in his.

**Prompt: Why?**

Legolas could not help chuckling as Elrohir gingerly seated himself at their table. By no means did he take joy in his lover’s discomfort or find it amusing in itself. But it was gratifying to know the cause of it was not unwelcome to the young Elf-knight and indeed cheerfully and regularly sought.

Elrohir was no longer the sometimes hesitant bedmate the archer remembered.

Lack of long experience did not intimidate him nor did the great gap in their ages. He did not always entertain Legolas in his quarters but would impishly slip into the archer’s rooms and await him there, greeting him when he arrived with an endearing roguish grin. At such times, it was all Legolas could do to keep himself in check and remember to bolt his door first before taking what Elrohir offered. It made for many a torrid tryst that left Legolas wishing for more hours in a night.

The previous eve had proved particularly heated due to the day of tedious meetings that preceded it. And Elrohir had exacerbated Legolas’s testiness, teasing him to distraction at the last meeting. For after all, how was a hot-blooded Wood-elf supposed to remain calm and composed when the object of his desire sat demurely across from him while lightly running his foot every once in a while up said Wood-elf’s leg under the table?

He stifled his mirth when Elrohir shot him a glare that was at variance with the charming stain that warmed his cheeks. In one thing Elrohir had not changed and that was the ease with which he blushed. _Probably the mannish blood in him_ , Legolas thought.

“Ah, I nearly forgot,” Elrohir said after a few minutes small talk. “Arwen bade me to thank you and your sire for the majority gift you sent her.”

Legolas lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “That was eighteen years ago and she did write us her thanks for the brooch.”

“Aye, but as she has never met you, she felt a mere letter was inadequate after receiving so exquisite a jewel.”

“So gracious. Just like your lady mother. And grown into a great beauty as well no doubt.”

Elrohir grinned. “Not quite just yet but she is already more comely than most. I wager her hundredth year will see her full blossoming.”

“Indeed. Has she many suitors?”

“A goodly number but none has found favor with her. And in any case, she claims she is not interested in tying herself down so soon. But she did say that when she finds the one meant for her, she will do all in her power to win and keep him.”

A sudden spate of comments by the Elves seated at the table behind them preempted the jest Legolas had been about to make. Though the remarks were uttered in hushed tones, it was obvious their speakers meant them to be heard by those seated nearby.

“She is no different from her brother,” one sneered. “I pity the unfortunate soul she sets her sights on. He will find himself seduced and trapped ere he has a chance to give the matter due thought.”

“At least, she has no choice but to play the mare if she follows that course,” the other said. “The same cannot be said of him. Look how shamelessly he flaunts our prince’s mastery over him even now. Does he not realize what a spectacle he is making of himself?”

“Likely not. All he cares about is to hold on to Legolas by whatever means at his disposal. Now I do not wish ill on anyone but, verily, if it befalls this son of Elrond, I say it will be well deserved!”

Legolas’s first instinct was to call the venomous pair out and declare the truth of his relationship with Elrohir to everyone in the dining hall. But the quick clasp of his hand by the Elf-knight stayed him and he looked questioningly at his young lover.

Though pain shown clearly in his eyes and his cheeks burned with humiliation, Elrohir murmured, “Chide them for their rudeness but do not reveal the truth just to defend me.” 

The archer stared at him incredulously. “They have impugned your honor, Elrohir,” he protested. “I cannot allow that to stand.” When Elrohir shook his head, Legolas scowled. “This is my doing,” he muttered. “‘Twas I who instigated that benighted ruse.” 

“And I colluded with you to further it,” Elrohir pointed out. “I am as much to blame. Perhaps even more.”

“Do not even think that!”

Legolas swore under his breath when Elrohir flinched. This was helping neither of them. He rose to his feet.

“Meet me in the armory,” he quietly said. “And do not worry, I will go no further than to chastise them.”

He waited until Elrohir left the suddenly quiet hall. Whereupon he approached the Elves who had spoiled more than his breakfast.

The pair, Silvan nobles both, started to get to their feet as he neared them but he stopped them with a curt gesture. They calmly reseated themselves. 

Their lack of fear angered Legolas even more for it told him they thought their hurtful words had affected Elrohir alone. But mindful of his lover’s plea, he controlled the impulse to disabuse them of the mistaken assumption that Elrohir was nothing more than a favorite paramour.

“You may have cost me a warm bed this night,” he snapped, startling them out of their complacence. “And since you think so little of the Wood-elves’ honor to bother to extend due courtesy to a guest of this realm, I see no reason why I should uphold yours.”

Legolas felt little satisfaction when they paled with alarm. He was doing next to nothing to dispel their assumptions even if it was at the Elf-knight’s behest.

“Once you have cleaned up this hall after breakfast, you may report to Galion for duty. I am sure he will have enough for you to do this day. Perhaps he might even keep you busy enough to silence your vile tongues.”

He turned on his heel and stalked out of the hall, leaving the two Elves to gape at his retreating figure in shock, the other diners to plunge into whispered debate and Galion to review the day’s list of chores and select those he deemed arduous enough for the prince’s purposes.

As Legolas made his way down the corridor, he paid scant notice to the Elves scooting out of his way, oblivious of the effects his thunderous expression was having on all and sundry. And here he had assumed Elrohir’s arrival would becalm his fractious feelings, he mused in exasperation. If anything, the Elf-knight’s presence seemed to rouse his edginess even further. 

He chided himself. It was not Elrohir’s fault that he had harbored a curious sense of missing something in their affair for the longest time now.

Legolas slowed his stride as he neared the armory. He felt thusly not because Elrohir dissatisfied him. Indeed, his lover contented him so well that he did not care to recall the long lonely years before they met. Nay, it was not that Elrohir lacked in anything, Legolas mused. Rather, his discontent stemmed from the feeling that it was he who was lacking; that there was something he needed to do but had not as yet done it.

He wondered if it had aught to do with the lie he and Elrohir had perpetuated for more than a century. But almost as soon as he thought it, he discounted the notion. Had that been the only cause, he would have felt a lightening of his spirit earlier when he had wanted to and almost did reveal the truth. But if it was not that which caused him such disquiet, then what?

With a sigh, he entered the armory. A quick look around told him he and Elrohir were the only ones about. Elrohir quickly came to him, his expression inquiring and a tad worried. Legolas shook his head.

“I did not tell them though the temptation was great,” he said. “I only meted out a suitable penalty for their atrocious manners.”

Elrohir relaxed. “Perhaps they will be better behaved toward me from hereon.”

“Perhaps.” Legolas regarded him curiously. “Why did you stop me? ”

“Do you wish for them to know how you duped them?” Elrohir gently countered.

Legolas grimaced. “You were protecting me.”

“Nay, I was protecting what I have with you. If they continue to see me as your trophy and a mere diversion, they will not put overmuch pressure on you to wed as they wish.”

Guilt shadowed Legolas’s features. “Only a few are so ambitious as to dispense with civility and speak out of turn. But they are loud and crude and call attention to themselves and their cause. Ah, plague take them all! I never intended for matters to progress this far.”

“You did naught to encourage their assumptions,” Elrohir said soothingly. “‘Twas my carelessness that brought this about. I should have been more discreet if I did not wish to incur their disdain.”

“Then I should have counselled you thusly,” Legolas retorted. “You should not have to endure this. You do not deserve to be demeaned by these fools.”

Elrohir wanly smiled. “If this will gain me your company a while longer, I can bear it.”

Legolas gazed at him searchingly. At length, he drew Elrohir close, inclining his head so that their foreheads touched. “So strong. So brave,” he murmured. “I pray you never come to regret this, Elrohir _nín_.”

They soon headed for the archery yard, as was their habit most mornings. Elrohir had proved himself quite talented with the bow and Legolas was determined to send him home come autumn as skilled as any Silvan archer.

“I wonder what Glorfindel will say when he learns your sword has rarely left its scabbard,” he remarked as he watched Elrohir go through his paces. “I warrant he would prefer to make sword masters of Elladan and you rather than archers.”

Elrohir grinned. “He will scold me for being remiss in my drills,” he agreed as he nocked an arrow. “But he will not begrudge me my lessons with the most skilled archer in all Elfdom. Glorfindel knows he cannot train us well in all things and so he concentrates on what he does best and leaves the rest to others of comparable skill. But overall, he is without peer. Then or now, none can compare to Glorfindel on the battlefield and none has ever wielded a sword as ably as he does. Nay, not even the greatest warriors of Gil-galad’s army, or so _Ada_ says.”

“Oh, I have no doubt Glorfindel is a master of the sword,” Legolas said with a smirk. “Your accounts of Elladan’s uneven gait some mornings are fair testament to his prowess.”

Fortunately, Elrohir had already shot his arrow when Legolas made his statement. Otherwise, he might have skewered some unlucky soul, startled as he was into laughter by the archer’s lubricious comment.

“I cannot believe I wrote you about that!” he gasped around a snicker. “Elladan will have my head if he ever learns of it. Do keep it to yourself, Legolas, if you value my life.”

The archer chuckled. “No fear, my lips are sealed. But do caution Glorfindel to give Elladan a respite now and then. I’m sure your brother is no laggard in bed but all the spirit in Arda will be for naught if the body is too worn out to do its bidding. Even Elves need to rest occasionally from partaking of the pleasures of the flesh. Particularly if ‘tis one’s flesh that is pierced more oft than not.” 

Elrohir wavered, startled by so blunt a declaration. He lowered his bow and took a moment to steady himself. But when he glanced at Legolas a little reproachfully, the archer knew it was not because he thought the latter’s remarks improper.

“Do forgive me for distracting you,” Legolas said with spurious regret.

The Elf-knight snorted and raised his bow once more. Taking aim, he replied, “He does allow Elladan a respite every now and then. But Glorfindel’s desire for union with my brother is such that, rather than abstain completely from coupling with him, he reverses their roles and lets Elladan play the sword.”

He loosed the arrow and watched it hit the target dead center. Turning to look at Legolas, he broke into a grin. The archer was staring at him in some astonishment. Elrohir guffawed.

“Oh, come now, Legolas, they are wed these many years! Surely you did not think they would restrict their bed play.”

Legolas smiled sheepishly. “‘Tis just that I could not conceive of such a one as your captain spreading himself for an Elf almost two ages his junior and possessing nowhere near the breadth of his life experiences.”

Obviously surprised, Elrohir looked wonderingly at Legolas. After a moment, he shrugged and said, “He loves Elladan.” He turned his attention back to his exercises.

Legolas fell silent, Elrohir’s revelation muzzling him as effectively as a gag. Such laxness in the observance of sexual mores was so rare in Eryn Galen as to be virtually nonexistent.

The archer blew his breath out. He really could not make comparisons. The customs of his father’s kingdom had diverged in more ways than one from the traditions observed in other elven realms. The Silvan Elves were the most conservative of all the elven tribes of Middle-earth and tended to uphold the conventions that governed their lives very stringently.

True, this uniformity of purpose and belief had lent them the strength and courage to withstand outside adversity through the centuries. But there was a downside to such rigidity and that was their resistance to change and the resulting inability to adapt to it as swiftly as their counterparts in other lands did. 

Legolas could still remember the protests that had met Thranduil’s decision to send his son and heir to Imladris for a season. More than one Silvan noble had expressed the fear that Legolas would become enamored of heathen practices and return to Eryn Galen more Noldo than Wood-elf. Only the popular notion that Elrohir was little more than a favored bed-treat kept this vociferous minority from making a hue and cry of it. And Elrohir was right though Legolas was loath to admit it. So long as they could take pride and comfort in the thought of Elrond’s son submitting thusly to their prince, they would mostly keep their reservations to themselves though not all did so with grace. 

Given their stance on such matters, Legolas could just imagine what they would make of Glorfindel’s willingness to play the mare for Elladan. After all, he had been taken aback himself despite his open-mindedness. Intrigued, he tried to picture the legendary warrior sheathing his much younger, less seasoned mate. The resulting imagery predictably discomfited him even as it fascinated him.

But then, without warning, Glorfindel changed into another Elf. Legolas gasped in shock when his mind’s eye showed him in the captain’s stead, limbs wantonly splayed as Glorfindel’s had been. And there between his legs—Elrohir pressing into him with thrilling possessiveness until they were joined in full bodily intimacy.

Legolas groaned as his nether regions stirred into arousal. He closed his eyes and shook his head in attempted denial. It should not have been possible yet he was painfully hard at the thought of being speared by his sweet and gallant Elf-knight. At the same time, it appalled him that the thought should affect him so.

How oft had he been told that it was unbecoming of the heir apparent to yield himself to another? Over and again he had been counselled to limit such encounters or, even better, do without them. And so he had decided. Only they who gained his utmost trust would he deem worthy of the privilege. He had abided that rule ever since.

That had been no hardship for though he bore no aversion to the experience, neither did he seek it. So whence this intense unlooked-for desire?

“Legolas, is something wrong?”

The archer blinked away his daze. He stared at Elrohir, noting the anxious frown that creased his smooth brow.

“Nay, I was only thinking how beautiful you are,” he said.

Color tinged Elrohir’s cheeks but he did not shy away in embarrassment. Instead, he smiled and, leaning forward, pressed a soft kiss to Legolas’s mouth.

“Thank you,” he murmured against the archer’s lips before reclaiming them in a deeper caress.

In that moment, Legolas knew not only whence his desire sprung but also the depth and strength of it. 

***************************

Glossary:  
Ada – Papa  
Elrohir nín – my Elrohir


	31. Completion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though formal union is not yet possible, Elrohir and Legolas’s relationship comes full circle in another way.

**Prompt: Circle**

Rumpled sheets and scattered pillows attested to the vigorous use the bed had been put to. The faint but unmistakable scent of bodily union confirmed the nature of that use. There would be much tut-tutting in the morning among the chambermaids whose responsibility it was to put the bedchamber in order. That had been the case since young Elrohir began frequenting their prince’s quarters as much as his own.

Legolas could not remember a time when his ardor had been so easily roused or his passion so difficult to master once stoked. Nay, not even in those early years when newly awakened concupiscence drove him to gratify his desires with reckless abandon and scant consideration for the consequences of his actions. His youthful lechery paled in comparison to the lust that overcame him whenever he was in close proximity to Elrohir.

He had reasoned that their long separation was to blame for this state of affairs. It was natural to glut one’s self with something long wanted. But that could not explain the incessant hunger for his lover nearly a month into his visit. By now, he should have been sated enough to occasionally abstain from bedding the younger twin.

The shifting of the mattress beside him drew his eyes to the comely youth who shared his bed. Elrohir lay on his side facing Legolas, regarding the archer thoughtfully. Legolas raised his eyebrows in tacit inquiry.

Elrohir said, “I overheard talk this afternoon—amongst the housekeeping staff. They said it was surprising that I spend many a night here because you have never bedded anyone in your chambers before. Is this true? Am I truly the first?”

Legolas shrugged. “You are. What of it?”

“Then I had best refrain from coming here too often.” At Legolas’s surprised reaction, Elrohir explained, “This is probably another reason some of your folk resent me. Had I known your prior refusal to have your lovers here, I would have abided your preference.”

“My preference is to have you here,” Legolas corrected. “In truth, I was delighted when you boldly came to me that first evening. My bed had never felt so welcoming until then nor my sleep as sound when I knew I would awaken to the sight of you beside me.”

Gentle color suffused Elrohir’s cheeks. “I am glad that pleased you. But do you not mind the talk, Legolas?”

“Only if you do.” Legolas frowned. “Does it trouble you overmuch? I thought you said you could ignore their incivility.”

“I can. But I do not care to add to the tally of faults they hold against me. Not if their perception of me besmirches you in turn and lessens their esteem for you.”

Legolas shook his head. “Think first of your needs, Elrohir. Of what you can tolerate. Do you care what they say about you? If so, then I will agree that it is best you no longer come to my chamber.” He pursed his lips. “I will agree but I will not approve of it.”

Elrohir faintly smiled. “If you want me here, then I do not care what they say,” he declared.

Appeased, Legolas pulled him into his arms, letting Elrohir rest his head on his shoulder. He smiled when the young Elf snuggled against him, insinuating a slender limb between Legolas’s legs.

They lapsed into pleasant reverie for several heartbeats with only their steady breathing to accompany their respective thoughts. Legolas ran his fingers through Elrohir’s hair, enjoying the feel of the silken strands against his skin. He remembered the first time he’d shared a bath with the Elf-knight and helped him wash his dark locks. He’d been amused to learn that Elrohir had never bathed with another since his adolescence save for Elladan. He wondered if that still held true. Following on the heels of that idle thought came another.

In the ten decades since their last parting, had Elrohir known other than platonic company? It was a stray idea and a completely unwarranted one yet he could not stop it from taking shape in his mind.

A century was a long time to go without for an Elf of Elrohir’s age, especially if he had enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh. And there was Elrohir’s newfound confidence in bed as well; his lack of inhibition in love play. 

Whereas before it had been Legolas’s wont to prepare him well ere taking him, now Elrohir yielded himself with ease and enthusiasm. Legolas told himself that it was simply the result of greater maturity as well as his familiarity with the act. But a part of him worried that some of the Elf-knight’s proficiency had been gained through actual experience in which Legolas had taken no part. The jealousy that smote him took him unawares and he tensed.

“Legolas?”

The archer turned his head to study his lover. Elrohir gazed back curiously. Goaded by his conjectures, Legolas raked the Elf-knight’s body with his eyes, noting as he did that Elrohir did not shy from being so boldly inspected. Not so much as a smidgen of color marked his cheeks despite the deliberately salacious appraisal. Interesting that suggestive words could reduce Elrohir to blushes but not the actual partaking of his graces, Legolas mused with some vexation.

“Have you yielded to others?” he tersely asked, the words spilling out against his will.

Elrohir stared at him. “I have not lain with others at all, even in the name of instruction,” he replied. When Legolas regarded him skeptically, he added, “You asked it of me, remember?”

Legolas grimaced. Torn between active relief and grudging guilt, he said, “You did not abstain because of me, did you?” Hard as it was to say the next words, he forged on. “I would not have you forego something you desire only for my sake.”

Elrohir did not hide his surprise. He looked at Legolas searchingly. What he saw apparently satisfied him and he smiled.

“Rest you, that was not the sole reason. Your counsel long ago was not only wise, it concurred with my convictions even then. Casual couplings hold no attraction for me and even less am I enamored of meaningless affairs. Under those circumstances, I can hardly give myself to another as I have to you.” He reached up and ran his knuckles tenderly down Legolas’s cheek. “I trust you. I feel utterly safe with you. And my heart is yours and always will be.”

Legolas took a moment to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. “You honor me,” was all he could say.

The Elf-knight shook his head. “I merely speak the truth.” 

For several minutes they lay in companionable silence, Legolas idly drawing circles on Elrohir’s chest with his fingers. As his jealousy subsided, his thoughts turned elsewhere. And as they had for several nights running, the bulk focused on Elrohir’s twin and the Elf he had wed. Or rather, Glorfindel’s disregard for convention in his desire to please Elladan as much as Elladan pleased him.

 _He loves Elladan._ That was all the explanation Elrohir had offered. That was all the explanation needed, Legolas admitted.

Elrohir turned further into his embrace and he felt the nudge of the Elf-knight’s length against his thigh. Legolas’s own shaft stirred in resurgent arousal. The archer drew a calming breath.

“Do you wish that I would yield to you?” he murmured.

There was a moment’s hesitation and then Elrohir shrugged and said, “I would be lying to claim otherwise.”

“Yet you have not asked it of me.”

Elrohir frowned. “‘Tis not anyone’s right to ask that of you and your privilege alone to bestow it.”

Another several minutes of silence passed. Elrohir glanced at Legolas with some concern. The archer seemed lost in thought. At length, he sighed and softly spoke.

“Strange as it may seem for an Elf of my years, I have never done so.” He wryly smiled at Elrohir’s palpable start of surprise. He met the Elf-knight’s curious gaze. “My grandsire and father thought it most unseemly for a male of our line to play the mare,” he explained. “I was discouraged from entertaining the notion in no uncertain terms. But even had there been no such prohibition, I would still have held that back. For there simply has been no Elf I have trusted enough or cared for that I would wholly share myself with him.” 

He paused, looking so vulnerable, that Elrohir’s protective instincts were immediately roused.

“Until now.” 

Elrohir stared at him. “Are you suggesting…” 

Legolas cupped Elrohir’s sculpted jaw with a visibly trembling hand, stroking his lover’s lips with his thumb. “Take me, _rochir vell_ ”—dear knight—he whispered. “I would have you master me this day. I would know what it is to be claimed and loved so utterly.”

For what felt like the longest time, Elrohir gazed at him in amazed disbelief. But just as Legolas parted his lips to question him about his silence, the Elf-knight preempted him with a kiss. Gentle yet searing, hungry but still imbued with deepest affection, it stole the very breath from Legolas’s breast. 

The need for utmost closeness between them flared and he pulled his lover atop him, parting his legs so that Elrohir could rest between them. Recollection of the vision that had started his yearning heightened his excitement and he groaned against Elrohir’s lips at the nigh unbearable ache in his nether regions.

They came together with the ease of long time bedmates who knew what pleased the other best and how to do so. Their forms moved in sensual harmony, lips and hands roaming over well charted territory. The progression toward their bodies’ joining was as reassuringly familiar as it was breathtakingly pleasurable. But when Elrohir reached down between Legolas’s legs to slip seed-slick fingers into the cleft of his backside, all that was familiar ended.

Taking over the reins of their lovemaking, Elrohir gave his archer love no chance to change his mind but slid a finger into him, kissing him hard at the same time to forestall any eleventh hour retreat. Legolas gasped at this wrenching of control from him, as much evinced by the constraint Elrohir imposed on him as the piercing of his body. He realized in that instant that his yielding had already begun.

Elrohir readied him as assiduously as he had once done for the Elf-knight. So well did Elrohir apply what he had learned that he soon rendered the archer more than ripe for the taking.

“Enough,” Legolas moaned in between kisses. “Elrohir, please—”

Elrohir’s eyes sparkled and his mouth curved into a wicked grin. “Please stop?” he challenged. “Or please get on with it?”

Legolas glared at him. “Impertinent whelp,” he growled. He curled a leg behind Elrohir’s thighs and insistently pulled him closer. “Do not make me beg, Elf-knight!”

The wicked grin gentled to a tender smile. “I don’t want this to be cause for regret, Legolas,” Elrohir softly said. “Are you truly certain?”

Firm, warm flesh barely prodded the crease of Legolas’ buttocks. When he found himself savoring the thought of being filled thusly, the last of his resistance faded away.

“Oh, aye,” he murmured. “Very certain.”

Elrohir’s eyes gleamed as he abandoned all restraint. Once more sealing their mouths together, he pressed into Legolas, slowly but steadily. The archer could not help flinching from the stretch and burn of that inward slide nor could he stop the hoarse whimper that greeted the full seating of Elrohir’s shaft inside him. When Elrohir parted their mouths, he was breathing hard and quite unsteadily.

The drop of feathery kisses on his heaving chest slowly soothed him as did the sensuous swirl of Elrohir’s tongue on his nipples. Legolas huskily chuckled and, wrapping his arms around Elrohir, arched up slightly against him. He was rewarded when soft lips closed around a nipple and tugged on it until it hardened most deliciously to a tiny peak.

The flesh inside him retreated slightly then pushed back in to the hilt. Legolas’s eyes widened at the surprising sensation. 

Once the tight entrance to his body had been breached, the discomfort quickly receded to be replaced by pleasure he could not quite define. Perhaps it was as much the knowledge that he harbored Elrohir’s shaft within him as its actual presence that added to the heightened rapture. Whatever the cause, it was a feeling that defied description and promoted a craving for more of the same.

Legolas groaned as he was repeatedly cleaved, acutely cognizant of Elrohir’s impressive endowment now that he was on the receiving end of it. His legs wrapped tight around the Elf-knight’s waist, he clutched at his lover, shuddering with every piercing of his body. He finally understood why Elrohir had willingly spread himself for him all these years.

This was pleasure beyond anything he had ever imagined. This was exquisite. This completed him at last. 

He sought Elrohir’s lips, found them and captured the Elf-knight in a hot and fervent kiss, luring him into pillaging his mouth as thoroughly as he was spearing him. Elrohir’s thrusts quickened, plunging more deeply than ever, caressing him within until Legolas nigh sobbed from the bliss of it.

Elrohir curled his hand around his shaft where it lay between their heaving forms. Legolas wrapped his fingers around Elrohir’s hand, enjoying the added intimacy of the two of them stroking his length together. He moaned Elrohir’s name over and again as the pleasurable pressure continued to mount. 

Elrohir gazed at him with such lust and devotion, Legolas’s breath caught in his throat.

“You are so beautiful,” Elrohir shakily whispered. “Would that you could be mine forever.”

“I am,” Legolas gasped, the throes of his climax beginning to overtake him. “I have been yours since you first asked me to claim you. Ah—Elrohir!”

He had a glimpse of his young love’s shocked delight before completion hit him. Legolas muffled his cry against Elrohir’s shoulder, conscious only of the rapture that exploded in his groin and radiated outward to the very reaches of his body. But even as he rode out the waves of sensation, he was aware of the shudders that wracked Elrohir’s body and his gasping groans, conveying the Elf-knight’s powerful release. 

When Elrohir spilled his seed inside him for the first time, Legolas knew he would always treasure the moment. Indeed, every moment of this night he would cherish for the eternity of his days. 

And if the Powers saw fit to grant him joy everlasting, his Elf-knight would share the memory with him always.


	32. Pledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil inadvertently brings about a far-reaching development in Legolas and Elrohir’s relationship.

**Prompt: Breakfast**

There was something different about him. About them both, Thranduil Elvenking of northern Greenwood the Great mused as he observed his son and the younger of Elrond Half-elven’s twins. He could not quite put his finger on it but it was there. In the way Legolas looked at Elrohir more appreciatively than ever and Elrohir’s protective manner toward Legolas.

Why the intensified appreciation for a lover whose charms one had known for over a century? And what need was there to be protective of an Elf renowned for his prowess with sword and bow and knife? Thanduil shook his head. He was missing something. Something he felt he ought to know but could not unless he had all the pieces of the puzzle before him.

The pair had arrived together for breakfast as usual. No doubt Elrohir had spent the night in Legolas’s apartment again. The talk among the chambermaids was that the Elf-knight rarely slept in his own bed nowadays. And Legolas seemed perfectly content with the arrangement. Indeed, he seemed to encourage it.

Thranduil paid only cursory attention to such talk. There was little chance that folk would suspect there was more to their prince’s affair with the Peredhel than that of a conqueror taking pride in his conquest and duly flaunting his enjoyment of it.

Legolas was always careful to conceal his true feelings about Elrohir. He was courteous toward the Elf-knight, defended him when needed as expected of any gallant Elf, and even bestowed playful affection on him. And why not? After all, Elrohir was still a stripling among Elves. 

It behooved most to be indulgent of a young Elf’s infatuation with his first and inordinately handsome lover. And it did not hurt to appear gracious and benevolent in the eyes of their prince. Besides, Legolas himself, while clearly possessive of Elrohir’s favors, displayed no evidence of wanting anything deeper than a lust-driven affair.

Thranduil refrained from rolling his eyes whenever he heard gossip to that effect. Little do they know, he would wryly think. And Eru forbid they ever did learn the truth. 

He was not afraid of dissension in his court—he knew how to quash it before it became a real problem. But he was a king who took his obligations to his land and people seriously. He preferred that petty quarrels and shallow intrigues born of jealousy and disappointment not interfere with the business of running a kingdom. 

Thus, he was thankful for his son’s strong sense of duty. A lesser Elf would have balked at being denied his desires for so long. But Legolas knew the demands of rulership and met them to the best of his considerable abilities.

Thranduil finished his breakfast and bid his table mates good day. He oft conducted meetings regarding less urgent matters over meals. He glanced in his son’s direction as he wended his way among the tables on his way out of the dining hall. Legolas had paused to have a word with one of the courtiers. Now he joined Elrohir at a table, sitting across from him.

That’s when the king saw it. The reason for the difference.

As Legolas sat down, he winced. So swift and faint was his grimace that Thranduil thought he had imagined it. But almost at once, Elrohir leaned forward and said something to Legolas. What he said Thranduil could not possibly hear but the concern on Elrohir’s face was unmistakable. Legolas shook his head and flashed him a sheepish grin. And then he gingerly shifted his bottom, wrinkling his nose with each movement until he appeared to find a comfortable position.

In that instant, the most awful suspicion crossed Thranduil’s mind. The king gave an exasperated huff of such volume and magnitude, the Elves sitting nearby huddled defensively together lest they came to bear the brunt of what seemed to be the beginnings of a royal snit.

* * * *

Elrohir looked up from his book in surprise when Legolas entered his room. It was so seldom the Elf-prince came to his quarters that Elrohir no longer expected it.

About to speak, he paused to study Legolas’s face. The archer looked thoughtful and the barest hint of a smile curved his mouth. It was as if he was amused by something and concerned about it at the same time. 

Elrohir put the book away and swung his long legs over the side of the bed to get up. A gesture from Legolas arrested the motion and he sat down again, frowning slightly. The prince came over and stood before him. Elrohir looked up at him curiously.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

Legolas’s smile turned distinctly rueful. “Father has learned—and much to his dismay unfortunately—that I’ve played your mare a number of times.”

Elrohir stared at him. “But how? No one knows. I swear, I have not spoken of this to anyone.”

“Nor have I. But I suppose I should have been more careful this morning at breakfast, given how thoroughly you rode me last night.”

“I don’t understand. More careful?”

Legolas chuckled. “He saw my face when I sat down at our table. It was clear to him that I was in some discomfort. And then you spoke to me with concern. And it was of the kind he used to show the Elves he took to his bed before he wed my mother. And so he knew.” The archer shook his head. “From those meager clues, he correctly inferred that his only son had allowed another Elf up his backside. And vigorously so.”

Elrohir blushed. “Oh Valar, I am sorry, Legolas. I should have restrained myself last night.”

“Why?” Legolas countered. “You enjoyed it, I enjoyed it. Why should you have held back?”

“Well, you would not have been so uncomfortable this morn,” Elrohir reasoned. “And so there would have been naught for your sire to see.” He sighed. “I have not forgotten what you told me about his aversion to males of your House yielding themselves. I am sorry I helped put you at odds with him now.”

“Nay, don’t think yourself at fault for this,” Legolas said, settling down beside Elrohir. He reached up and ran his fingers through Elrohir’s loose locks. “Besides, we did not quarrel; we only argued the point. _Ada_ has always been very perceptive about my affairs, as I know almost everything about his. Well, except for that time he nearly tupped your father. But that is neither here nor there,” he hastily added when Elrohir’s eyes widened in shock. “I will tell you that tale another day. For now, put it out of your mind that you had aught to do with his displeasure. I was the one who asked you to have me after all.”

Elrohir slowly nodded. “Do you regret it now?” he quietly asked. “We need not couple so again. I don’t want to cause more trouble between the two of you.”

Legolas snorted. “Regret such bliss as I have never known before? Where is the sense in that? Nay, my Elf-knight, there is no going back to the way things were. Not when I look forward to being cleaved as I do cleaving you.”

Before Elrohir could respond, Legolas kissed him, slipping his tongue between the younger Elf’s parted lips to taste deeply of him. When their mouths parted after a breath-stealing while, Legolas reached for the tie on Elrohir’s shirt and pulled it loose.

“ _Ada_ was alarmed that I yielded,” he murmured, pressing kisses to Elrohir’s throat. He smiled against the smooth flesh when Elrohir moaned and likewise reached for the fastenings on the archer’s tunic. “But 'twas not because of his objections to the act itself.”

“Then what perturbed him?” Elrohir asked, pushing Legolas’s tunic off his shoulders.

“The reason I consented to spread myself for you,” Legolas said. He pulled Elrohir’s shirt off him. “He knows the only thing that could have compelled me to capitulate would be a conviction that I have found the mate of my heart.”

Elrohir stopped in the act of undoing Legolas’s shirt. He gaped at the archer, startled.

“Your mate?” he finally managed to whisper. “You mean me?”

Legolas grinned. “Who else?” he teased. His eyes softened. “Father likes you. But he has always preferred that I take an Elf-maid of this kingdom to wife.”

“He still harbored the hope that our affair might peter out, didn’t he?” Elrohir somberly said.

“He did,” Legolas affirmed. “Hence his disappointment. He now knows for certain that I will never breed heirs for our House. But he will not stand in our way when the time comes. He loves me too much to begrudge me my happiness.”

Elrohir swallowed. It was the most roundabout proposal he had ever come across but it was no less wondrous than a traditional one. He went into Legolas’s arms and pressed his face into his neck.

“I hope those are tears of joy,” Legolas chuckled.

Elrohir huffed a laugh. “‘Tis more joy than I ever expected,” he said. He drew away, his eyes glistening. He raised a hand to Legolas’s face, spreading his fingers tenderly on the prince’s cheek. “I know there is still a long wait ahead of us. But I can bear the waiting now that you’ve declared yourself to me.”

“But you have not,” Legolas pointed out. “I would have a clear answer to my suit, Elf-knight. And you can be as circuitous about it as I was with my proposal.”

This time, Elrohir laughed out loud. “Nay, I prefer to give a plain answer.” He kissed Legolas lingeringly then touched their foreheads together and said, “For however long it takes, I will wait for you, Legolas Thranduilion. I will keep myself for you alone until such time that I may pledge myself yours for eternity.”

Legolas groaned and pulled him into his arms, kissing Elrohir with such scalding passion, it rendered the young Elf quite breathless. Without breaking the seal of their mouths, he bore Elrohir down on the bed, wedging his hips meaningfully between the Elf-knight’s legs. At length, he released Elrohir’s lips and quickly stripped them both of their breeches. 

As he fully bared Elrohir, he said, “Tonight I do the riding. But only to spare my father more displeasure come tomorrow.” He bent to have his fill of Elrohir’s graces. 

A long while later, after they had come nigh to spending in their mutual pleasuring, Legolas hurriedly smeared his shaft with their emergent seed. He only waited for Elrohir to wrap his legs around his waist before he entered him, filling him to the hilt. Elrohir moaned as he was penetrated, still thrilled by the feeling of hard flesh sliding deep into him despite having sheathed Legolas countless times before.

They moved as one, the plunge of flesh into willing flesh forging a symphony of exquisite sensations. Satin bound muscles snugly embraced hard, invading flesh, wreaking ecstasy that wrung a litany of gasps and moans and blissful sobs from them.

Legolas raptly watched Elrohir, marvelling at his lover’s utter openness with him. The Elf-knight hid nothing from him, shamelessly allowing Legolas the pleasure of seeing him come undone at his hands. _Because he trusts me_ , Legolas thought with reverence. _Because he loves me with all that he is and has._

It was a nigh incomparable gift and one Legolas hoped he could come close to matching. For in truth, there were moments when he found the Peredhil’s capacity for all-consuming devotion and the boundless giving of themselves quite frightening. Yet it inspired in him a like desire to be as capable of such loving now that Elrohir was his. 

And Elrohir understood. Hence his protectiveness toward Legolas as the prince came to terms with these discoveries about himself. This Legolas knew and was moved to even greater love for his Elf-knight.

Elrohir started to tremble with the onset of release. Small gasps began to build up to soft cries. Legolas kissed him lustily, swallowing those sounds as if to own Elrohir thoroughly even to the expressions of his pleasure. He reached for the Elf-knight’s shaft and stroked it, ignoring Elrohir’s frantic clutch at his arms and his strangled whimpers, indications that his pleasure was on the verge of crossing the line from merely intense into shattering.

The Elf-knight harshly sobbed out his release, his legs locking instinctively around Legolas to draw the archer even deeper into him. The spasmodic clenching of his muscles around the flesh that cleaved him wrenched Legolas’ climax from him.

He perforce broke their kiss as he shuddered in ecstasy. He gasped when, before he had fully spent himself, Elrohir latched onto one of his nipples. The young Elf licked and sucked the dusky nub to a hard peak, thus ensuring for Legolas a longer, more powerful spending. Legolas groaned with the intensity of it then laughed helplessly as he lost all control of his body and gave himself up to his pleasure.

When he got his breath back, Legolas reluctantly withdrew from Elrohir and collapsed by his side. He pulled Elrohir half atop him, letting him rest his head on his chest. They lay thusly for a time, savoring the feeling of being one in body. Legolas could only imagine what it would be like when they became one in heart and spirit as well.

“My sweet Elf-knight,” he murmured, smoothing his hands down Elrohir’s back to the firm mounds of his buttocks.

Elrohir lifted his head from the archer’s shoulder and gazed curiously at him. He caught his breath when the cheeks of his bottom were parted and a finger breached him. He closed his eyes as he was repeatedly pierced.

“Legolas,” he shakily whispered. “Why this—this possessiveness? I am no one’s Elf but yours and ever will be.”

He opened his eyes to meet Legolas’s gaze. The archer did not answer at once but pressed another finger into the seed-slick passage. His eyes narrowed, satisfaction glittering in their crystalline depths, when Elrohir hissed and arched his back at the greater intrusion. 

His groin pressed down to meet Legolas’s. He gasped. The prince’s shaft, hard with resurgent desire, nosed up to rub against his own length. 

Legolas grinned rakishly. “I am possessive of all that is mine,” he silkily said. “And as you have avowed yourself mine, I fear you will just have to bear the consequences.”

He rolled Elrohir on his back and, smoothly moving between his upraised knees, pressed deep into him before his lover could so much as bleat in surprise. As he proceeded to demonstrate his ownership of Elrohir all over again, Legolas’s eyes gentled and his mouth spread into a warm, joyous smile.

“As you are mine, I am yours,” he murmured. “And all shall one day know. By the light of the Valar, this I swear, my heart. My Elrohir.”

He closed his lips upon Elrohir’s and let his body show him what mere words were too inadequate to express.

******************  
Glossary:  
Ada – Papa  
Peredhel (pl. Peredhil) – Half-elf/Half-elven  
tup – have sexual intercourse with


	33. Knowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> True union is much more than the mere sharing of bodies.

**Prompt: Sixth Sense**

“I can’t believe the two of you!” Elrohir exclaimed. “Letting a simple misunderstanding keep you apart for so long. It boggles the mind.”

Elladan glared at is brother. “Are you suggesting I should make the first move? ‘Twas not I who jumped to conclusions and made false assumptions, Elrohir! Why should I be the one to apologize for this mess?”

“Making the first move does not constitute an apology,” Elrohir pointed out. “It is simply facilitating communication between you. In which case you need not wait for Glorfindel to admit his mistake and grovel for your forgiveness.” 

“I don’t want him to grovel—!”

“Unless of course you don’t want to set things right between you soonest and can bear sleeping alone for the next only Eru knows how many nights.”

Elrohir managed not to grin when his brother flushed then scowled in obvious frustration.

“You know I want to end this ridiculous tiff,” Elladan huffed. “I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep all week.”

“It’s not quite as cozy without Glorfindel at your back,” Elrohir teased. “Or should I say, up it?”

He yelped when Elladan punched his arm. “Your tongue grows saucier every year,” the older twin snorted. He then sighed and looked at Elrohir ruefully. “What shall I say?” he asked. “The way I feel right now, I am more likely to quarrel with him all over again than talk things over reasonably.”

“Hurt?”

“Very. Elrohir, there was no call for his jealousy. I thought he trusted me.”

“And I am quite certain he does.”

“Oh? Then why did he think the worst when he saw us? If he trusts me, he would have ascertained the situation first before accusing me of cheating on him. We are bound, for Eru’s sake! Does he really think me capable of betraying our vows?”

Elrohir shook his head. “I don’t think he believes that at all. I think he just reacted without giving himself time to assess the situation. I mean, put yourself in his boots, Elladan. Had you walked in on him with a beauteous _elleth_ in his arms, her skirts halfway up her thighs, well, what would you have thought?”

“Ithiliel lost her balance, Elrohir! She would have probably cracked her head open had I not caught her!”

“And broken her fall with your body. Think, Elladan finds, what did that look like to Glorfindel? He walked into the library and found you on the floor with a half-dressed maiden astride your hips. Even I thought your position looked compromising and I was there the whole time! Yet I saw what happened. Glorfindel did not.” Elrohir shrugged. “He loves you dearly, brother. Almost to distraction. I imagine that does not contribute to clarity of thought when the circumstances look damning to begin with. After all, Ithiliel has never hidden the fact that she desires you.”

“Us!”

“She could want every Elf in Imladris. It does not matter, Elladan. What counts is that Glorfindel saw you with her in a highly suggestive position and acted on instinct.”

“Instinct?”

“Of a mated Elf.”

Elladan was silent. He looked down at the spot on the floor between two massive bookcases where he had lain sprawled with the flirtatious Ithiliel after she toppled from the ladder she had used to return books to the topmost shelves. He then glanced back at the library door—it was slightly hidden behind the bookcase to his right. He frowned.

“He only caught a glimpse of us from the door,” he thoughtfully said. “The ladder would have been been out of sight and so would the books that fell with her.”

“Therefore?”

“Therefore…” Elladan rubbed his forehead with some irritation. “I still think he should have remembered that I’m no philanderer despite our mortal heritage but—" He sighed. “I suppose his response was not surprising if it was a gut reaction.”

Elrohir smiled. “I think we can assume it was. So—now what?”

Elladan smiled back faintly. His eyes suddenly glittered with knowledge. “Now I look for a stubborn Balrog slayer who’s probably contemplating the same thing even as we speak.” 

“What makes you think he is?”

“I don’t think. I know.” 

Elladan led the way to the door. 

As they stepped onto the corridor outside they saw a golden-haired Elf approaching. Glorfindel hesitated when he spotted them then appeared to brace himself and walked up to them. He nodded at Elrohir then looked uncertainly at Elladan.

“I may have to ride to Eryn Galen with my scouts,” he quietly said. “The disturbing developments Legolas spoke of in the south of Greenwood need to be investigated.”

Elladan stared at him in consternation. “When?” 

“Within the week. Legolas will ride with us.”

“As will I,” Elladan declared. “I won’t stay behind,” he said when his warrior-spouse started to protest. “We’ve been apart too long as it is.”

Glorfindel gazed at him. He took a half-step nearer almost at the same time Elladan did.

“Forgive me, _melethen_.”—my love

“ _Seron vell_ , let me explain.”

The near simultaneous pleas elicited regretful smiles from the both of them. Glorfindel lifted a hand a stroked the back of it down Elladan’s cheek. In the next moment, he caught the older twin in a nigh crushing embrace while Elladan sealed their mouths together in a lustful, hot-tongued kiss.

Elrohir rolled his eyes and stepped around them, saying in low voice to his twin as he passed, “Your apartment is just two doors away, brother.”

He did not wait for them to retreat to their suite but went on to his own. As he passed through his sitting room, he caught himself up short. He felt a frisson of pleasure such as he knew only when in a certain Wood-elf’s company. Drawing a calming breath, he entered the bedchamber and paused on the threshhold.

“Rather early for this, don’t you think?” he managed to say as he appraised Legolas’ form splendidly and unabashedly arrayed on his bed. 

Legolas shrugged, the movement dislodging a fall of shining hair from a hard, alabaster shoulder. The sight left Elrohir’s mouth dry.

“Shall I leave then?” the archer drawled, raising one sleekly muscular leg to further mouthwatering effect on the Elf-knight.

“Don’t you dare move,” Elrohir shot back. 

He walked to the bed, quickly doffing his clothes along the way. By the time, he slid onto the bed and between Legolas’ legs, he was as bare—and visibly aroused—as the archer. 

“I intend to ride with you to Greenwood,” he informed Legolas as he bent to trail kisses up the prince’s throat.

“Ah, Glorfindel informed you—?”

“On his way to making up with Elladan.”

Legolas softly laughed. “So that quarrel is finally being settled?”

“Even as we kiss.”

They did not speak again for several minutes as they occupied their lips and tongues with the business of kissing each other breathless.

“You did not look surprised to see me,” Legolas murmured huskily, gasping in delight as Elrohir pressed his fingers deep into him.

“I expected to find you here,” Elrohir replied, steadily readying his archer love for his taking. “Though I admit I did not anticipate a completely naked Elf displayed on my bed.”

He withdrew his fingers, quickly replacing them with his shaft.

Legolas groaned with approval as he was pierced then filled with hot, hard flesh. He gazed at Elrohir from beneath half-lowered lids, his eyes agleam with pleasure and desire.

“You sensed me then?” he whispered. When Elrohir nodded, he reached up to cup the Elf-knight’s face. “How strange that we can when we are not yet bound.”

“We? Do you sense me, too, Legolas?”

“When you are close by, aye, that I do, my Elf-knight.”

They stared at each other in awe. Then Legolas drew Elrohir down until their lips met and the indescribable joy and ecstasy of their bodies’ joining took precedence over the pleasure of their minds’ unlooked-for communion. But not their spirits’ wondrous intimacy.

******************************  
Glossary:  
elleth – Elf-maid  
seron vell – beloved


	34. Certitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one and nothing can come between a stubborn Peredhel and a willful Wood-elf.

**Prompt: Smell**

Greenwood the Great, T.A. 1305  
The sons of Elrond abandoned all decorum and rushed into the healing halls, Elrohir significantly paler than Elladan. Both looked much like many of the Elves who’d been brought to the main ward—clothes stained with blood both red and black and many a rent in their dark grey cloaks. The only difference was that they were still standing, uninjured when many of their fellows lay begrimed and wounded.

“Where is Legolas?” Elrohir demanded of an apprentice healer.

The Elf pointed to one of the small rooms. The twins left him before he could say a word.

The chief healer looked up disapprovingly when they burst into the chamber. He had just finished dressing the ugly wound that had brought the archer down before Elrohir’s horrified eyes just hours earlier. His assistant picked up a basin of bloodied water as well as Legolas’s soiled shirt and tunic and made to leave the chamber.

“How is he?” Elrohir asked him as he passed.

“The bleeding has stopped, thank Eru,” the Elf said.

“But why is he unconscious?”

“We had to suture the wound. Master Dirion gave him a sleeping draught to help him through the procedure.”

“Your help is required elsewhere, Mithluin,“ Dirion curtly interrupted.

“Aye, Master Dirion,” the Elf murmured and hurried out of the room.

The twins approached the bed and Elrohir bent over Legolas, looking him over anxiously. He lightly ran knowing fingers over the white bandage wrapped around Legolas’s torso, hiding the hideous gash dealt to the archer’s side by an orc scimitar. Legolas had come between the goblin and one of his fallen warriors and thus taken the brunt of the nigh lethal blow. 

Elladan gripped his brother’s shoulder soothingly. “He will be fine, Elrohir,” he said. “Look, his color is good and his breathing is normal for one asleep.”

Elrohir nodded but did not take his eyes off his lover. “I should have stayed by his side, Elladan,” he murmured.

“Nay, he commanded you to lead the left flank,” Elladan pointed out. “You obeyed his order as was your duty.”

“I know but—" Elrohir heaved a deep, calming breath. “I never want to witness such a thing again,” he whispered. “All that blood pouring from his side…” He shook his head. “I thought he would die before they could get him back here. Ah, Elladan, I should have—"

“Do not say you should have escorted him here,” Elladan quickly cut in. “We were tasked with ensuring no orcs left the glade alive and we stayed behind to do just that. Really, Legolas would give you an earful were he awake to hear you speak such nonsense.”

When Elrohir trained a pained gaze on him, Elladan relented and added, “But he will likely also thank you for caring so much.”

“Where is the King?” Dirion abruptly inquired, his voice grating in its unexpected harshness.

The twins glanced at each other. It was no secret Dirion nursed hopes of a match between Legolas and one of his daughters. He would have little liking or patience for the Elf who appeared to have distracted the prince from the business of selecting a mate from among his own people. 

“The King has gone to destroy what remains of the orcs and their encampment,” Elrohir tersely explained.

“And was there no other present who could have taken that task upon himself?” Dirion sarcastically asked.

“We offered our services,” Elladan countered, his voice suddenly chilly. “But His Majesty felt he had already put us at too much risk. I dare say he does not desire having to explain to Lord Elrond how his messengers came to grief.”

Dirion’s cheeks colored at the reminder of just who the brethren were. 

Acting as emissaries for their sire they were honored guests. Yet they had insisted on aiding the Wood-elves when incursions by orcs and other foul creatures threatened the kingdom. They had risked their lives for a people not their own to battle the brutish minions of the master of Dol Guldur whose steadily waxing malevolence in the southwestern reaches of once verdant Eryn Galen had resulted in the progressive blighting of the great forest. 

Greenwood the Great was now known as Taur e-Ndaedelos, Forest of Great Fear. Or in the Common Tongue, Mirkwood.

“When will he awaken?” Elrohir asked, regarding Legolas again.

“Two hours, maybe three," Dirion answered. He frowned when Elrohir drew a chair up beside the archer’s bed. “Surely you are not going to wait here.”

“That is precisely what I am going to do.”

“You will only get in the way.”

“How so? I am trained in the healing arts and by my father no less.”

Dirion bristled. “I am sure Lord Elrond’s skills are considerable,” he huffed. “But you are not he. You were merely trained by him. Now I must insist you do not hinder us but leave us to do our duty in peace. I expect you to be gone when I return.”

He turned his back on the twins and left the room.

“The rude spawn of a troll—!” Elrohir snarled and started after the healer.

Elladan grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Nay, brother, you will only confirm what he wishes to believe about us.” He gestured toward Legolas. “It is more important that you are here when he wakes up. Go and bathe and mayhap take a nap. I am sure Legolas will appreciate it if his first sight of you is a clean and well rested Elf.”

Elrohir sighed. “You are right,” he grudgingly conceded. 

He returned to Legolas’s side and looked long and longingly at him, gently brushing wayward strands of silvery gold hair from his face. At length, he bent down and kissed the archer’s smooth forehead. 

“I will be back, _seron vell_ ”—beloved—he whispered. “Depend on it.”

They left the chamber and returned to the main hall. There were less of the more seriously injured Elves around. Like Legolas, they had been taken to the smaller rooms where they could be closely monitored. Elrohir spotted Dirion and accosted him, not bothering to conceal his dislike for the arrogant healer.

“Send for me as soon as he awakens,” he told the Elf. “I will be in my quarters.”

“I have more urgent matters to tend than to—" Dirion started to protest.

“Send for me,” Elrohir repeated, his voice now hard with anger and impatience. 

Dirion’s mouth tightened but he finally nodded once. The brethren stalked out of the healing halls.

oOoOoOo

Elrohir sensed the archer’s awakening through the uncanny bond that connected them. At first, he thought to wait for Dirion’s summons rather than chance puzzlement over the precise timing of his return to the healing halls. But when a quarter of an hour passed and still no message came thence, he knew there would be no summons at all. And so he hurried to Legolas’ room, debating the wisdom of giving Dirion a piece of his mind when he got there.

He came to the prince’s door just in time to hear what appeared to be a contentious conversation. Elrohir smiled with relief when he heard the very much in command voice of his woodland lover. That Legolas was also in a testy mood registered a moment later.

“Don’t think to dupe me, Dirion,” he was saying. “I know Elrohir was here.”

“And I tell you, Your Highness, he was not,” Dirion insisted. 

Indignant at the denial of his earlier presence, Elrohir started to open the door, ready to barge in. He halted, however, when he heard Legolas’s next words.

“Then who was it who spoke to me earlier with such care and regret?” the prince demanded.

The healer seemed taken aback. “Likely one of my assistants,” he replied after an awkward pause. “Or even myself.”

“Likely not,” Legolas snapped. “Fie on you to utter so bald a falsehood.”

Dirion sputtered in shock at the archer’s accusation. “My-my Lord! That is—that is an outrageous thing to say! I have never lied before!”

“Meaning you have learned to lie since,” Legolas irately retorted. “I tire of this! Elrohir _was_ here earlier. I want him here _now_. Send for him, healer.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Dirion stiffly muttered, his cheeks scarlet from the royal dressing down. 

“No need, I am here,” Elrohir announced as he stepped into view. He eyed Dirion none too pleasantly then turned all his attention to Legolas. “And I think I shall stay here until you bid me to leave.”

Legolas chuckled. “Do you plan then to take up residence here until I am well enough to be discharged?” he mirthfully asked, extending his hand to Elrohir.

“If you wish it,” Elrohir replied, taking Legolas’s hand.

“I wish it,” Legolas said. 

Elrohir started to respond when Legolas suddenly pulled him close and pressed his face into his neck. The archer breathed deeply then smiled and brushed a kiss against Elrohir’s throat.

“I knew it. There is no mistaking you for someone else,” he informed Elrohir, pointedly ignoring the presence of the abashed physician.

“But you were unconscious,” Elrohir softly said. “I doubt you could have sensed me then.”

“Ah, but I did not sense you.”

“Then how did you know ‘twas I?”

“Your scent. Part Elf, part Man and a smidgen of Maia, but all and singularly my very own Elrohir.”


	35. Temperature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warmth is as much of the heart and mind as it is of the body.

**Prompt: Snow**

Elladan cursed under his breath as the icy breeze managed to penetrate the thickness of his cloak and clothes. He glanced at Elrohir who kept stoic vigilance beside the growing pile of wood by the mouth of the cave after depositing the armful he’d manage to gather before the cold got the better of him.

The height of a north Middle-earth winter was hardly the best time to go on patrol even for the hardy Elves. But numerous reports of banditry and rapine east and northeast of Imladris had forced Elrond to send companies of his warriors to relieve the towns and villages that had come under siege. 

It had been wholly unexpected that any brigand whether man or orc would venture forth in freezing weather. But then perhaps that was the point of the unlikely timing. The scoundrels probably thought Elrond would not trouble to give aid at this inhospitable time of the year. 

The scoundrels had paid dearly for their assumption and their deeds if one went by what was left of one band after the brethren’s company was done with them. Now Elladan and Elrohir were heading back to their valley realm with as much speed as their horses were capable of. 

The Elves under their command were little troubled by the cold and so were their Elf-horses. But the twins were as much made of mortal stuff as of elven. Hence, their greater sensitivity to the hostile climate.

It was not the cold per se that hampered them but the cutting wind. Thus they had sought a sheltered spot that would permit them to build a roaring fire over which they could cook as well as boil water for a warming and fortifying tea. Even the pureblooded Elves of the company looked forward to a nice hot meal.

The company pitched their tents around the entrance of a low cave delved out of the side of the small hill that lay on one end of the glade. The cave was too shallow to accommodate the group for a night’s sleep. But the Elves would be comfortable enough in their tents so long as they secured the entrances against the wind and wrapped themselves snugly in their cloaks and blankets.

Elladan now returned to the tent he shared with his brother, having forgotten his flask of miruvor in his pack. The cordial of Rivendell was known for its warming effect and both twins had taken flasks of the liquor with them to share around the fire with their warriors. 

The older twin cursed once more as a particularly glacial breeze caught him before he could duck into the tent. He all but dove inside, eager for the relative comfort of its confines.

* * * *

Elrohir swore as he left the warmth of the blazing fire and the shelter of the cave and headed for the tent he shared with Elladan.

It was now twenty minutes since the older twin went to retrieve his supply of miruvor. The Elf-knight could not believe his brother would dawdle in their tent when there was a roaring blaze and hot food and drink to be had in the cave.

“Elladan!” he called out as he approached the tent. “What is taking you so long?” 

A horse neighed to his right, startling him. As far as he knew, their mounts were tethered to the trees at the other side of the glade. 

Glancing wonderingly in the direction whence the sound had come, he said, “The stew is steaming and the tea is done. And if you can’t find the miruvor, rest assured I have more than enough to go around.”

When still no response came, Elrohir reached out a hand to part the flap of the tent entry. 

“Elladan?”

“You keep warm your way, Elrohir,” Elladan suddenly replied, his voice oddly husky. “It is hot enough in here for me, thank you very much.”

Elrohir stared at the tent entrance, the beginnings of a puzzled frown creasing his forehead. A throaty laugh emanated from within. Elrohir’s frown faded away along with his bafflement and he laughed as well.

“It appears we need to talk to our sentries about the state of their alertness,” he remarked with a grin. “Well then, just take it slow, brother. Remember, we face a whole day in the saddle tomorrow.”

A snort was his answer followed by a sharp gasp and a low chuckle.

Rolling his eyes, Elrohir was about to return to the cave when he thought of something else. 

“And you had better pitch a tent for me when you are done with him, Glorfindel!”


	36. Constraint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the centuries march by, Elrohir’s patience comes perilously close to running out.

**Prompt: Years**

Imladris, T.A. 1970  
About to return to the house after an early morning round at the archery yard, Elrohir watched a large group of Wood-elves make their way to the exercise field where Glorfindel’s warriors awaited them. It was as if history were repeating itself, he thought. Nearly eighteen hundred years had passed since folk of the once green wood had walked the corridors of his father’s halls in such numbers. But the reason for their visit was vastly different this time around. 

Thranduil had sent a whole contingent of his warriors to train under the renowned swordsmen of Imladris. The perils of Mirkwood were such that it was no longer prudent to rely on the Wood-elves’ snares and the valor of the Silvan archers alone. Even skilled knife-work was not enough. Hard-pressed to hold the line against the fell creatures that constantly threatened their forest realm, the woodland folk had perforce sought the help of their Noldorin allies.

But rather than host scores of Elrond’s warriors in his kingdom, Thranduil insisted on sending his people to Rivendell instead. It was a matter of pride, of course, and Elrond wisely agreed to the arrangement. It was one thing to submit to a master warrior’s instruction in order to further one’s martial skills, quite another to have that same warrior do one’s job while on one’s native soil.

Two more Silvan Elves emerged from the house. Elrohir pursed his lips. Unfortunately, not only warriors had come to Imladris. In the need to further expose his advisors to what was happening beyond their borders, the Elvenking had also included a small party of said advisors. Among them was one Elf the younger twin had reason to beware.

He reluctantly neared Beldulus and his companion though he forced himself to smile at them in greeting. The counsellor had not said or done anything thus far to reaffirm Elrohir’s uncomplimentary opinion of him. But the Elf-knight’s memory ran deep and he would never forget how Beldulus’s malice nearly derailed his relationship with Legolas before it had even started.

Beldulus might not show his resentment of Elrohir’s liaison with Legolas as openly as he had in the past but there was no denying it. Only the archer’s presence in Rivendell prevented him from giving his disdain free rein.

To his consternation, Beldulus suddenly asked, “May we have a word with you, Lord Elrohir?”

Elrohir hesitated, appraising both Elves a little suspiciously, before he gestured to Beldulus to speak.

“My colleague here went to fetch Prince Legolas from his quarters this morning only to find him gone and his bed unused,” Beldulus said. “Now that would not be cause for concern if it were only for a night. But it was not only last night that he has spent elsewhere. To our knowledge, he has only infrequently slept in his room since we arrived.”

“It is most unseemly,” the other counsellor continued. “Our folk have noticed his many nightly absences as well as his propensity for company other than theirs. It has upset not a few that their prince spends little of his time with his own people.”

“We hoped you would perhaps deign to remind him of his duty,” Beldulus concluded. “Perhaps when he visits you? We are only concerned for his reputation amongst our folk.”

 _Oh, I am sure you are_ , Elrohir sourly thought. It was tempting to blurt out the truth but he reminded himself that to do so would only harm the unity of the Wood-elves and bring about discord at a time of peril and uncertainty.

“Why come to me?” he said. “Is mine the only warm bed in the valley?”

The Wood-elves stared at him, a little shocked by his bluntness. And affronted as well if one went by the reaction of Beldulus’s companion. 

“You expect us to believe that?” he scoffed, ignoring Beldulus’s furtive tug on his sleeve. “Since you laid claim to his attention, he has not bedded another.”

“That you know of, Counsellor,” Elrohir countered. “Do you really think Legolas would flaunt his conquests as he did in his reckless youth? Fie on you to believe him capable of such ungallant behavior to this day!”

That took the Elf aback and he failed to make a retort. Beldulus skeptically asked, “And you do not mind that others share his bed?”

His tone was surprisingly civil. Elrohir wondered if Legolas had upbraided him for rudeness all those years ago and that now compelled him to school his tongue as best as he could. 

Elrohir looked away, his eyes clouding over. “I do mind but, as I do not own him, I am in no position to demand his fidelity,” he quietly replied. 

At this point, he could not hide his frustration and it showed in his eyes and the tight line of his mouth. That the cause was quite different from the advisors’ assumptions mattered little if it convinced them that Legolas did not keep himself solely for Elrohir. 

“I am as duty-bound to maintain the goodwill between our realms as Legolas is,” he pointed out. “By the alliance our fathers forged before I was born. Do you call me an oath-breaker?”

Awkward silence followed his declaration. Suspicious, belligerent, crafty and plainspoken to the point of rudeness—the Wood-elves could be all these when they thought their interests seriously compromised. But they were not evil nor did they take joy in the genuine pain and grief of another. The counsellors now wavered, confused by the Elf-knight’s obvious sorrow.

“That was not our intention,” Beldulus murmured uncomfortably. “We beg your pardon if we gave offense.”

Elrohir nearly asked which of Beldulus’s myriad offenses against him merited his pardon. But he chose to leave his irritation unsaid. It would do little good and, in any case, keeping his peace in the face of provocation made him appear the better Elf, something which likely irked these two and their ilk no end. 

He merely dipped his head in acknowledgement of the spare apology and waited for the pair to move off. Yet he did not walk back to the house at once but remained where he was, staring unseeingly at the blossom-bedecked trellis that framed the entrance to the garden porch. 

He had promised to wait; to bide his time until Legolas could come to him unfettered by duty and expectations and offer him eternity at his side. But more and more, as the innumerable years went by, he’d begun to wonder just how much longer the waiting would be.

The weight of it had become almost heavier than he could bear at times. Especially when all around him he witnessed love long blessed and consummated or recently come to fruition. His parents and Elladan. Glorfindel, Lindir, even Erestor who’d seemed sworn to bachelorhood—all had given themselves in matrimony and now reaped the reward of their spirits’ binding. 

True, Arwen was as yet unattached but she did not languish in a long-term liaison that was neither here nor there, her heart and body shared with another yet her soul unbound in eternal wedlock. Elrohir drew in his breath in shock as the extent of his discontent struck him in full. When had he started to doubt his choice? 

In that instant, he realized just how lonely he was. Lonely and alone even when the Elf he loved was with him. For however much they joined their bodies, however fervently they declared their hearts to one another, that did not alter one reality. That until they united their spirits in matrimony, they could still be parted. They could still follow different paths in life. For all intents and purposes, they were separate and would remain so for Eru only knew how long. Another century? Or two? What about ten? 

He grimaced. He had already endured more than a millennium and a half of waiting. He now questioned his heart’s fortitude to bear many more a long year of what amounted to concubinage, loving and tender though the terms of his keeping might be. A shudder passed through him.

Whence the thought? He was not Legolas’s concubine but an acknowledged lover. And then it occurred to him that his position was actually more precarious. For like one betrothed a concubine was only a step away from the nuptial bed while one such as he, party to a ruse that entailed disavowing a desire for formal wedlock—

Elrohir sighed. He had not entered into the affair unwillingly nor had Legolas coerced him into complicity in subterfuge. If he was now unhappy about his circumstances, he had only himself to blame for falling so deeply and hopelessly in love with an Elf who could not yet answer his yearning for more than cautious correspondence, discreet avowals and infrequent trysts.

He started when someone clasped him by the shoulder. Turning, he found himself under Legolas’s amused regard.

“Wherefore that fearsome frown?” the prince archly asked, reaching up to smooth a thumb over the crease in Elrohir’s forehead. “Did one of my folk best you this morn?”

Elrohir did his best to cheerfully reply. “In their dreams perhaps. Like it or not, you Wood-elves are splendid archers but woefully lacking in swordplay.”

“Are we? _Am I?_ ”

“That depends. Which field of battle are we talking about?”

Legolas snickered. “I will concede the one if you recant the other.”

Elrohir chuckled but apparently his mirth was not merry enough for Legolas suddenly frowned and said, “Elrohir, what is wrong?”

It would have been easy to vent his frustrations on his lover, Elrohir thought. But to what end? What would divulging his budding heartache and growing doubts serve apart from weighing Legolas down with guilt and regret? He would not have both of them so burdened when there was still no resolution in sight.

“Nothing a spell in your company cannot remedy,” he answered as lightly as he could muster. “But then my needs may be more than you can handle, Wood-elf.”

Legolas snorted. “Let us see who cries “enough” first,” he challenged. “I am of a mind to test your limits, stripling.”

“I am no child but a full grown Elf,” Elrohir mildly protested.

“I should hope so,” Legolas retorted. “Ready yourself, Elf-knight. This eve you will show me just how well you can rise to the occasion.”

A gust of laughter escaped Elrohir while, grinning smugly, Legolas ushered him back to the house.


	37. Tribulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A grievous transgression sunders the Peredhil and forces some hard choices.

**Prompt: Storm**

The Last Homely House, T.A. 2510  
The times Glorfindel rued going back to Middle-earth were few and far between. This was one of those times.

He watched Elladan shove hardy clothing into a pack. The older twin’s weapons were laid out as well on their bed—sword and knives honed to lethal sharpness and a sturdy newly-strung bow and a quiver of freshly fletched arrows beside them.

Glorfindel looked away to stare out the window. But he saw neither the brilliant blue of the sky above nor the colorful profusion of blossoms in the verdant garden below.

Images from a warrior’s past filled his vision. Of a doomed battle and a great defeat. And a fair city ringed by mountains that would fail at the last to protect it from its foes. Of bleak stone and deadly flame as he fought a spawn of the Enemy until death in an abyss gained him relief from the hideous pain of his body’s burning. And then the first glimpse of the first day of life restored in the land of his birth.

His return to Middle-earth had been no less blessed and cursed with myriad sights both fearsome and wondrous. There was Lindon by the sea, enduring yet so very changed. And the son of the child he had died to preserve, now an Elvenlord in his own right. Another battle, both tragic and hopeful, amidst choking ash and the stench of sulfur. And two beauteous infants born during peace but fated to take part in war.

His eyes softened when he recalled the night that had borne witness to the culmination of his dearest wish and Elladan lay beneath him, receiving him in love and unspoken commitment to a life together. They hardened once more as he remembered Men corrupted into a wraith’s existence and his ride against their king, the brilliance of his renewed elven fire putting the fear of Eru and the Valar into what passed for that abomination’s heart. And lastly…

He shook his head. He did not care for the memory of his liege lady and law-mother broken in body and spirit after days spent at the mercy of creatures that knew not the meaning of the word. Nor did he wish to dwell on the nightmarish search for Celebrían’s bestial tormentors and the prolonged and gruesome end the twins had subjected them to. Now the family was newly returned from Círdan’s seaward realm, deeply grieving the departure of Imladris’ beloved mistress for the Undying Lands.

Glorfindel’s mouth tightened. Elrond had been in too much a sorrowful daze to gainsay his sons while Arwen’s tears and pleas had not moved her vengeful brothers. And neither he nor Erestor had been able to dissuade Elladan and Elrohir from their course. Nay, not even he had held sway over his own mate.

“It is Elrohir who desires this quest,” he flatly said, turning around to glare at Elladan.

Elladan stopped what he was doing and looked up, his eyes angry and defiant. “I, too, desire it,” he snapped.

“Yet you did not broach it. In all these many months, not once have you indicated a wish to ride out and hunt and slay.” Glorfindel held up a hand to forestall Elladan’s reply. “You go because you will not let him do this alone even if it means leaving all else behind. Even me.”

The light of quick ire faded from Elladan’s eyes. He drew in a shaky breath and said, “Elrohir has naught to bind him to life should he have to make a choice to fight or flee. I can make that choice for him. I have a reason to return here alive and whole.”

Glorfindel frowned. “He _has_ a reason. Or does Legolas no longer hold his heart?”

“He holds it. He will unto death and beyond. But they are not yet bound. After all this time, Elrohir still cannot call him his own save to the few who know the truth. And he cannot tell if he ever will.” Elladan’s shoulders slumped. “I fear for him. There is a bitterness in him though he declines to admit it to me. And he is lonely, Glorfindel. So lonely it chills my very soul when I chance to sense it. Such feelings might lead him into folly.”

“And perchance to ruin.”

With a sigh, Glorfindel went to Elladan and pulled him into his arms. Elladan wrapped his arms tightly around his spouse.

“I am sorry I have been so short with you,” Elladan whispered. “I never wished to hurt you.”

“You were overwrought,” Glorfindel murmured. “We all are. This is not a thing that can be borne without anger nor will grief pass quickly. I only ask that you do not keep such secrets from me. Had I known the extent of Elrohir’s despair, I might have found some other way to divert him from this path. Too late for that now. Your brother will not be swayed once his mind is made up.”

Elladan looked at him, a sad smile on his lips. “He would not be Elrohir otherwise,” he agreed. “I regret I did not confide in you. I will not fail to do so from hereon. But I am also glad that you understand why I must go with him.”

Glorfindel nodded, his eyes somber. He glanced at Elladan’s belongings on the bed. “Well then, I had best start packing, too.” He tightened his hold on Elladan when the older twin stiffened in his arms. “If I cannot convince you to stay, neither can you begrudge me the wish to accompany you.”

“But she is not your mother,” Elladan protested.

“Yet she is my liege lady and kin-by-marriage besides.” Glorfindel placed a silencing finger against Elladan’s lips. “Not another word, beloved. I am coming with you.”

He replaced his finger with his mouth, prompting Elladan to forget whatever it was he’d been about to say.

* * * *

They left at dawn the following day.

Elrond did not appear too surprised when Glorfindel stated his intention to ride with Elladan and Elrohir. And if Arwen was, she managed not to show it. But neither could hide the relief they must have felt that Rivendell’s indomitable captain would accompany the twins.

“Take care of them for me, Glorfindel,” Elrond softly said. “I cannot bear to lose another loved one.”

“I will keep them safe,” Glorfindel promised. “I will bring them home.” He glanced at Arwen. The Elf-maiden was doing her best not to weep that her brothers’ last sight of her should not be a tear-ravaged face. “I will always bring them home. This I swear.”

“I know you will,” Arwen replied, her voice steady though her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. She lifted them now to the brethren who waited astride their mounts. “The Valar keep you, my brothers. May the Lady always light your way.”

She retreated into the circle of her father’s arms as Glorfindel vaulted onto his steed.

Glorfindel looked at his pensive mate, then noted the steely gleam in the younger twin’s eyes. He spared a last glance for Elrond and Arwen, their faces strained with worry and grief. He clenched his hand decisively around the reins.

He would fulfill his oath and bring Elrond’s sons home. _To Imladris and farther on, Eru willing._


	38. Bloodlust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vengeance drives the twins down a perilous road.

**Prompt: Death**

T.A. 2515  
The stench of congealing blood and unwashed bodies permeated the air. The trees surrounding the killing field bore long stripes and deep gashes in their trunks. Many a shrub had been torn asunder or trampled into the harrowed floor of the wide forest clearing.

Glorfindel looked at Elrohir searchingly. The younger twin’s face was smeared with dirt and gore but that did not distract from the discomforting brilliance in his grey eyes. Or the shuddery breaths that told of anger not yet fully abated. His lips tightening into a grim line, Glorfindel grasped Elrohir’s shoulder and forced him to meet his stern gaze.

They glared at each other for several heartbeats, Elrohir oblivious of the curious stares directed their way as well as his brother’s concerned regard while Glorfindel simply ignored them. At last, the dangerous light in Elrohir’s eyes seemed to dim somewhat and he blinked and looked at Glorfindel as if seeing him for the first time.

Glorfindel gentled his grip. “Had enough?” he quietly asked.

Elrohir seemed inclined to bristle at the tacit reprimand but he followed Glorfindel’s quick sweep of the carnage around them nonetheless. He caught his breath then grimaced as the metallic odor of spattered blood finally registered. His cheeks paled slightly when he realized what lay at their feet—the nigh dismembered corpse of the orc he’d slain just before the battle’s end.

He looked at Glorfindel again and silently nodded. Abruptly turning away, he strode toward the edge of the clearing, carefully avoiding the bodies of fallen comrades while heedlessly treading on the carcasses of foes. Arahad, Chieftain of the Dúnedain of the North, observed him a while then signaled to his son Aragost and another Ranger to follow. He glanced at Elladan who dipped his head in acknowledgement and thanks.

Elladan walked to his spouse’s side and handed him a skin of water. Glorfindel took a generous swig before casting his eyes about to tally their losses.

“Four dead and six wounded,” Elladan supplied him with the information. “They will burn the orcs here and bury their men in a fair glade some distance away.”

Glorfindel sighed. “Tell them to take care to use only dead wood,” he murmured. “I do not care to cause harm to this forest any more than has been done to it already.”

“They share your concern.” Elladan glanced past Glorfindel to where his brother stood apart, leaning back against a tree with his head bowed and his arms folded defensively. “He was overcome,” he softly remarked. “I have never seen him thusly before.”

“So were you,” Glorfindel informed him. At Elladan’s startled stare, he said, “You were as blind with rage as he during the fight though quicker to recover afterwards.” He glanced down pointedly.

Elladan hesitantly raised his right arm. It was bloodied nigh to the elbow and hair and gristle and bits of bone clung to the gory blade and sticky hilt of the sword he still clutched. He heaved a shaky breath at the grisly sight.

“How many did I kill I wonder?” he muttered.

“Not how many,” Glorfindel corrected him. “Just _how_.”

That forced the color from Elladan’s cheeks. “Am I no different then?” he asked in a hushed, almost forlorn voice.

Glorfindel caught his face between his palms and made him look at him. He shook his head and said, “You already rue what you have done. That alone absolves you in my eyes. Besides, ‘tis love that drives your vengeance, Elladan, not mindless hate.”

Elladan’s eyes glistened. “I wanted to rend them with my bare hands, Glorfindel. Hear their pain and see the fear in their eyes. And I wish they were still alive that I may cut them down all over again! How can you say I do not hate them?”

Glorfindel wiped away the first of tears to trickle down Elladan’s begrimed cheek with his thumb.

“Of course you hate them. None can fault you for that. But you do not hunt them because you loathe them. You do so to take revenge on your mother’s behalf. Out of your devotion to her.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Elladan’s mouth. “Hate will not sustain you for long. Only love can.”

Elladan licked his lips. As if refreshed by the taste of his spouse on them, his eyes brightened a shade and the corners of his mouth lifted in a faint smile.

“How well I know that,” he whispered.

He leaned into Glorfindel’s tall frame, relishing the warm wrap of the captain’s arms around him. Resting his head a moment on his mate’s shoulder, he saw his brother straighten and make his way back to them.

Aragost briefly joined him, his eyes questioning. Elrohir said something that apparently reassured the Ranger for Aragost soon rejoined his father. The younger twin continued on his solitary way.

Elladan sadly watched him approach. Would that Elrohir was as well armored as he. A steadfast spouse and a forever love with whom he could share all his joys or call upon in such dark times—that was all his twin yearned for. But it lay just beyond his reach with only an infrequent taste or occasional glimpse of what could be to help him endure and continue to hope.

He tightened his hold on Glorfindel, almost painfully aware of just how fortunate he was. On the heels of that realization came deepest gratitude. And with it, he felt the last of his bloodlust seep away.

It would return, of that he was certain. When they found another goblin pack and they fought another brutal battle. But it would leave just as quickly. Glorfindel’s love ensured that.

Such desires were best abandoned once assuaged. But desire for each other there was aplenty. And that lust was and always would be welcome—in their bond and in their bed.


	39. Faraway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years on the hunt, the allure of hearth and home grows compelling. At least for one of the twins.

**Prompt: Home**

Eriador, Autumn T.A. 2917  
Elladan could count on one hand the number of things guaranteed to leave him bereft of sensible thought or speech. The sensation of being cleaved by a more than ample shaft counted as number one. That is, so long as said shaft belonged to his beloved mate.

He gasped at a particularly deep stab and buried his face in the cloak that shielded him from the grassy forest floor. Glorfindel’s scent clung to the fabric making Elladan even hungrier for his spouse’s taking. He groaned and pushed back eagerly against Glorfindel’s thrusts. Husky laughter met his efforts.

“You will not be able to ride tomorrow morn if you keep doing that,” Glorfindel said a little breathlessly.

Elladan tried to say something, moaned as pleasure preempted his ability to speak, then weakly chuckled and reached back to clasp one of Glorfindel’s hands where they firmly gripped his hips.

“You can be so incorrigible,” Glorfindel remarked though he quickened and deepened his thrusts in response to Elladan’s unspoken request.

“Complaining?” Elladan managed to blurt out in between gasps. He softly cried out when Glorfindel pushed roughly into him, bending close as he did to enfold Elladan in a possessive embrace.

“Do you really want an answer?” Glorfindel growled against Elladan’s nape.

Elladan did not reply but desperately turned his head, grabbed a handful of Glorfindel’s glorious mane and forced the captain to meet him in a voracious, hot-tongued kiss. It was sufficient to stifle the loudest of his cries as his body found release though birds and squirrels hidden in the branches above them heard enough to startle them into flight.

Glorfindel’s spending warmed his innards and he swiftly clutched at his mate’s hip to hold him in place a while longer. There was nothing like the physical sensation of their bodies’ joining and Elladan relished the connection for its incomparable intimacy.

Once they caught their breaths, they lay down on the cloak, Elladan cradled in Glorfindel’s arms, his head on the captain’s shoulder. Elladan dropped several kisses on the smooth flesh before lifting his head to gaze at Glorfindel with a smile.

“Should I be worried?” Glorfindel murmured, touching his thumb to an upturned corner of Elladan’s mouth.

“Nay!” Elladan protested. “Really, you see mischief where there is none.”

“Well, knowing you…”

“I suppose you have just cause.”

They laughed with the comfortable camaraderie of long-time companions. Then Elladan turned somewhat serious and said, “‘Tis your begetting day.”

Glorfindel looked at him in some surprise. “You kept track.”

“Of course! How could I allow so important an occasion to pass without mention or celebration?”

“Celebration? Ah, that explains your luring me away from camp and your so very eager catering to my wishes.”

Elladan wolfishly grinned. “Out here in the wild, there is little I could use to make a gift worthy of you.”

“I would say your delectable self is a very worthy gift.”

“Except that ‘tis a gift given nigh daily and need not wait upon a special occasion to give.” Elladan pushed himself up to lean over Glorfindel and gaze down at his handsome face. “I wanted to gift you with something special but I could not think of anything. So I shall ask you what you want instead. It may no longer be a surprise but at least you will truly desire it.”

Glorfindel stared at him, eyes clouding slightly as he pondered Elladan’s question.

“What I desire right now is something you likely will not grant,” he finally said. “Which is why I have not broached it even if the wanting grows stronger every day.”

Elladan looked at him searchingly. Their eyes met and something passed between them though neither spoke. Elladan caught his breath.

“You wish to return to Imladris,” he said.

“I wish to return to our home,” Glorfindel corrected. “I am weary of snatching a few moments here and there and always looking for some privacy just to be intimate with my own spouse. And I do not mean only in the coupling of our bodies.” He ran his knuckles down Elladan’s cheek. “We always have to be discreet around Elrohir and not for delicacy’s sake.”

“It pains him to see how blissful we are in our wedded state,” Elladan said.

“Especially when he languishes in incertitude,” Glorfindel agreed. “I heartily sympathize with him and hope he wins himself his love before too long. But you cannot direct your life or ours according to the dictates of his straits however much you love him. Furthermore, it has been nigh five years since we last spent a season in Imladris,” he added. “I have been remiss in my duties to your father and our people. As you both have.”

Elladan sat up, his face now pensive. “Aye. We can couch our reasons in noble terms, say our errantry is for the protection of the valley but…” He sighed and shook his head. “If I could, I would call an end to our ridings. But I dare not leave Elrohir to his own devices when his heart is so burdened.”

Glorfindel sat up as well and placed a hand on Elladan’s knee. “Do not downplay your own need for revenge, Elladan. Especially not with me. You need to do this as much as Elrohir, but you are sufficiently succored to desire the occasional break from riding out. That is the main difference between the two of you.”

He drew Elladan against him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I would like to go home for a spell but only if you come with me. Otherwise, I am content to remain here, where I can be at your side.”

Elladan shivered a little, thrilled by Glorfindel’s tacit statement of devotion to him and their union. It was time to reward his mate’s love in kind.

“I shall talk to Elrohir,” he decided. “This very night.”

“We are currently tracking a large orc pack,” Glorfindel reminded him. “Think you he will agree to leave their discovery and purging to the Rangers?”

“He will begrudge the chance,” Elladan agreed. “But I have as much say in this quest of ours as he. We are brothers as well as comrades-in-arms, with a father and sister we both dearly love. And he knows I am only half an Elf without you and therefore must tend to your needs as much as ours. He will listen. And I shall truss him up and bear him home on the back of his horse if he does not!”

* * * *

The Last Homely House  
The sentries had already alerted Elrond and Arwen to their approach and most of the household awaited their arrival on the wide front steps of the Last Homely House or gathered in small groups in the courtyard. As they passed beneath the gate’s familiar arch, Elladan felt a sense not only of homecoming but also belonging surge through him and he exchanged a joyful look with Glorfindel. He then glanced at Elrohir and was relieved to see his brother as obviously happy to come back to home and hearth.

It was not easy to persuade Elrohir to part ways with the Rangers and head for Imladris. Particularly since they were on the trail of a group of goblins that had recently attacked a nearby hamlet and would have taken a number of captives had they not been warned of the impending descent of a party of Rangers upon them. Naturally, they could move faster unhampered by captives and thus they had been forced to leave their victims behind.

The ruin they left however could not be dismissed nor could their foul actions remain unpunished. Thus, the brethren and their Ranger companions had gone in pursuit of the pack. Valar forbid that they inflicted such evil on another helpless village or settlement.

Faced with Elrohir’s initial refusal to abandon their part in the search, Elladan had resorted to using his guilt against him. That had worked readily even if it had left a bit of a bad taste in his mouth. While he and Elrohir confided much in each other, they seldom shared the most private details of their relationships, including the emotional travails entailed in maintaining affairs of the heart.

“Glorfindel has sacrificed much for our sakes,” he reminded his brother, wincing inwardly as Elrohir’s cheeks steadily darkened with color. “Imladris’ valiant captain, legendary Balrog slayer and favored of the Valar—yet here he is, submitting to the command of others when ‘tis he who commands in Imladris. All for love of me and my family. And is it too much to gift him with a respite from all this strife and bloodletting? Even Father ensures time off from vigilance and armed conflict for all our valley’s warriors.”

After a tense moment, Elrohir somberly said, “Forgive me, Elladan. I have been inconsiderate.” He sighed and added with palpable reluctance, “Indeed, let us return and see how Father and Arwen fare.”

Ironically, Elladan did not feel as much of a victory at his brother’s capitulation as might be expected. But then he loathed playing on Elrohir’s weaknesses to get what he wanted. Even if it was the only option open to him if he hoped to succeed.

Small wonder he now looked for evidence of felicity in his twin. Seeing Elrohir smile upon laying eyes on their father and sister did much to ease his heart and conscience.

It was so easy to ignore the pangs of homesickness when one was far afield and obsessed with dark thoughts and deeds. But come within proximity of one’s home and remembrance of all its attractions came flooding back. Elladan wondered if and when his soul’s clamor for vengeance would reignite. He hoped Elrohir’s would not for a goodly while.

Oddly, though Elrond and Arwen stood at the forefront of the gathering, neither made a move to come forward to meet the brethren. That was uncharacteristic of them. More oft than not, Arwen all but flew down the steps and into her brothers’ arms as soon as they dismounted while Elrond was known to haul one son or the other from his horse and into a fierce hug. The twins glanced at each other wonderingly and not a little anxiously. Yet their father and sister were smiling widely so there seemed no cause for alarm.

To their surprise, an Elf with hair like spun gold suddenly broke ranks and strode straight toward Elrohir. The Elf-knight could only gape almost gracelessly as Legolas approached him then swept him into a tight embrace.

“Legolas! How come you to be here?” he asked, wrapping his arms around his woodland lover.

Legolas drew back, eyes twinkling. “My father needed to send a number of confidential messages to yours. I told him I could guarantee their safe delivery into Lord Elrond’s hands.” He planted a quick but affectionate kiss on Elrohir’s lips. “And seeing how late in the season it already is, methinks I will have to pass the winter here and return to Mirkwood in the spring when the passes clear. Prudent of me, don’t you think?” he slyly added.

“Very,” Elrohir replied with an increasingly brilliant smile. “Sweet Elbereth, I had not expected so wondrous a welcome!”

“I promise I shall provide you with a much better one after your father and Arwen have given theirs,” Legolas merrily said.

In his delight, Elrohir resembled a child starved for his favorite sweet and now presented with a surfeit of it. Elladan did not know whether to be happy for him or sympathetic to his plight. Perhaps it was only natural for him to be both.

He felt much better about it however after the bounteous welcome dinner Arwen had prepared for them. Before they went their separate ways for the night, Elrohir came to him, his eyes all a-sparkle.

Grinning exuberantly, he hugged Elladan and said, “My thanks for convincing me to change my mind, brother. I dare say Glorfindel is not the only one to be gifted with his heart’s desire!”


	40. Conflicted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Besieged by doubt and discontent, Elrohir struggles to maintain his footing while treading the fine line between keeping back too much and revealing just enough.

**Prompt: Insides**

It was not often Elrohir’s flame was so dimmed that Elladan could barely sense its warmth. Consequently, it took him longer than usual to find his twin after a visit to Legolas’s quarters proved unexpectedly fruitless. It was rare for the archer not to know where Elrohir might have taken himself. Or rather for Elrohir not to tell him in the first place before making himself scarce.

He finally found the Elf-knight in a secluded corner of the wide terrace overlooking the Bruinen’s tributary. The roar of the falls was muted this time of the year but still clearly audible to elven ears. Elladan paused to study his brother’s pensive demeanor, the faraway look in his silver-grey eyes bespeaking disquieted thoughts and a restless soul.

“You took long enough,” Elrohir mildly needled as Elladan approached.

“This is no cottage we live in,” Elladan retorted. He joined Elrohir at the balustrade, resting his elbows likewise on the railing. After a moment, he asked, “Did you hear?”

“About the orc raid?” Elrohir nodded. “Had Glorfindel not sent out a patrol, naught would be left of that village but ash and corpses.”

“His forebodings proved true,” Elladan grimly said. “Thank Eru Father listened to him.”

“Is there an Elf alive foolish enough to ignore our gallant captain’s counsel? Besides myself, that is,” Elrohir added with a scapegrace smile, faint but reminiscent nonetheless of his roguish days.

Elladan snorted. “If there is an Elf alive of equal mule-headedness to you, I do not know. But I would dearly like to meet him. Or her.”

He was much heartened when Elrohir huffed a chuckle that rang with genuine humor. For the next several minutes, they scanned the wintry panorama before them in companionable silence.

“Do you regret coming home?” Elladan asked at length.

Elrohir shook his head. “Not when I see _Ada_ and Arwen’s happiness.” He glanced sideways at Elladan. “Or yours.”

Elladan looked at him searchingly. “And what of your own?” he quietly asked.

The wistful gleam in Elrohir’s eyes was quite heartbreaking. “It was an unlooked-for blessing,” he replied. “I cherish every moment with him.”

“Then you do not yearn to ride out again?”

“Do you?”

Elladan pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I think I have let my anger go,” he hesitantly admitted. “And then I hear of their doings and I remember Mother and all that she suffered. So, yea, I still desire to ride out.”

“You have answered the question.” Elrohir fastened his eyes on the tumbling waters of the falls. “I, too, desire it.”

“But I hope it has been tempered some,” Elladan ventured. “I believe mine has.”

“Small wonder when your heart’s yearning is appeased.”

Elladan caught his breath in renewed anxiety. “Elrohir—” he began.

“While he is here, I am content to stay home,” Elrohir preempted him. “But when he leaves, I cannot promise to abide here for long.” He looked sadly at Elladan. “I am no different from Arwen after all. ‘Tis only that she looks for peace in exile while I seek to wreak havoc away from censuring eyes.”

“Ferreting out fell creatures and slaying them are not the same as wreaking havoc. Were Arwen a warrior, she would ride with us forthwith,” Elladan pointed out. “As would Father if he were not the master of this realm and its folk. But war is no longer _Ada_ ’s lot and it was never Arwen’s. And so he buries his fury and grief in duty and she licks her wounds in the quiet of the Golden Wood.”

“You make it sound as if we are the more fortunate,” Elrohir drily said.

“Perhaps we are. At least, we find a measure of relief when we rid Middle-earth of even one of its evils.” Elladan clapped a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We came home to rest. To set aside our anger even for the length of a season. It will return soon enough. Come spring, the number of raids and killings will increase and likely stoke our anger anew. Try to savor the peace while it lasts; while you can yet find refuge in him.”

* * * *

Elrohir tried but found he could not throw off his dour mood as easily as Elladan urged.

He rose from bed, troubled that not even a fervent rutting had rid him of his melancholy. Unwilling to let Legolas see him in such a state, he made an excuse of adding another log to the fire in the hearth, carefully keeping his back to his lover.

“You have grown used to the cold,” Legolas remarked. “In the old days, you would have thrown on a shirt at the very least.”

Elrohir had to smile. He glanced over his shoulder at Legolas. “It is much colder in the wild.”

“So it is,” Legolas agreed, standing up as well. He walked to the balcony doors and, pulling aside the drapes, peered out at the frost-covered gardens. “It has stopped snowing. Shall we take a stroll tonight?”

Elrohir got to his feet, eyes riveted on Legolas. The prince was too beautiful for words, standing bare by the balcony doors, his tall, lean body faintly aglow in the gentle afternoon light that streamed in through the gap in the drapes. Drawn as always to his forest lover as a bee is lured by honey, he sauntered over to stand by his side.

“Like we used to?” he said, his eyes tracing the pathways they had walked, invisible now under a fresh layer of snow. The household staff would have them cleared by nightfall.

Smiling in remembrance, Legolas turned to face him. “Like we always do, weather permitting.” His smile slowly faded. “Will you tell me what is wrong? You are not yourself today.” He raised a hand and curved it around the side of Elrohir’s neck. “Indeed you have not been yourself these past many days. What disturbs your peace, Elrohir?”

Elrohir shrugged. “Only the usual. I cannot so easily forget all that I’ve seen and done. Even when I scrub myself raw, I cannot always rid myself of the feeling that the evil I hunt has followed me here instead and clings to me like a filthy second skin.” He shivered slightly. “What if in pursuing it, I have come to bear its taint? It is a frightening thought.”

The archer raised his hands and gently held the Elf-knight’s face between them. “You are not tainted by evil,” Legolas firmly declared. “Nor will you ever be. Only that which you do is. What we all must do in order to spare our people.”

“Thus are we reduced to choosing the least of many,” Elrohir bitterly murmured.

Legolas frowned. “You’ve changed so much,” he said with apparent displeasure. “I scarcely know you.”

That stung. Elrohir abruptly drew back and strode a few paces away, feeling the weight in his heart turn leaden. A wave of despair threatened to overtake him. If Legolas could not abide the changes in him, a vital part of the anchor that kept him grounded would break away and he would be set adrift. He clenched his hands to still their trembling.

“You are free to seek someone more steadfast of manner,” he replied, his voice even though his very insides roiled with turmoil.

“Elrohir!” Legolas wove his arms around him from behind and pulled him against his body into a tight embrace. “Why do you say that?” The archer sounded aghast. “Is it that you wish to break with me? What, in your journeying, did you bestow your heart elsewhere?”

Startled by the sharp suspicion in Legolas’s voice, Elrohir turned around to refute the mistaken assumption. But Legolas sealed their mouths in a demanding, almost brusque kiss. Elrohir tried to break it that he might speak. That proved a mistake.

In the space of a few frantic heartbeats, he found himself on his back on the bed, Legolas atop him, lean hips lodged between his splayed legs. Their kiss became a torrid, consuming caress. When Legolas finally released him, Elrohir was too breathless to speak. And in any case, the prince was obviously too upset to listen to explanations.

“If some presumptuous Ranger thinks to supplant me in your affections, you had best advise him to flee as far as he can,” he growled. “I will not suffer a rival for your heart, Elrohir Elrondion. Not now, not ever!”

He did not give Elrohir a chance to reply but sheathed himself to the hilt, his way eased by the remains of his previous spending. Elrohir clutched at Legolas’ arms hard enough to bruise, shaken by the manner of his taking—deep, nigh brutal thrusts that bespoke the prince’s desire to all but bury himself and restate his claim.

_Even did I wish to ride out tomorrow, I would not be able to sit a horse farther than the bridge_ , Elrohir thought as he was virtually pounded into the mattress.

They soared together, reaching the peaks of pleasure one after the other. Elrohir had not thought it possible under the circumstances. But afterwards, as he lay utterly sated, tucked against Legolas’ side and held fast in the archer’s arms, his head resting on one hard shoulder, he understood he would always respond to his forest prince, will he, nill he.

“Is there someone else?” Legolas suddenly asked, his voice gentler but still edged with iron.

Elrohir looked up with a faint smile. “You have always been the one for me,” he averred. “The only one.”

Legolas’s demeanor softened though he remained a shade tense. “Then what did you mean by those words?”

“I was disheartened that you deemed me so changed as to no longer be the Elf you once knew,” Elrohir admitted. “I thought perhaps you had misgivings about me. About us.”

“Fie on you, Elf-knight, to think that,” Legolas scolded, the caress of his knuckles on Elrohir’s cheek belying the reprimand. “Or do you take me for an inconstant lover who would forsake his heart’s mate over a petty difference of opinion?”

Elrohir swallowed painfully at the archer’s choice of words. But he did not pursue it further or allow himself to expect more. He did not wish to break the fragile peace or shaky hope the endearment had managed to forge in his heart and mind.

_Coward_ , he chided himself.

He could face hordes of orcs and armies of foes without fear or hesitation. But the thought of losing Legolas and what they shared struck such terror in him, it had the power to cripple his judgment and strip away his equanimity in the face of adversity.

“You are not so changed after all,” Legolas said a touch reproachfully. “You still keep secrets from me, out of fear of offending me no doubt. Yet you once trusted me so wholly, you gave into my keeping not only your innocence but also your heart. Why have you not been as forthcoming of late? When will you trust me again as you once did?”

Elrohir shook his head. “I do trust you. With all that I am and have. But so much has changed, myself included as you say. I wonder what awaits me when I have played my part and must move on.” He trained his eyes on the hearth and gazed at the crackling fire. “I fear that when all is done, I will still be here, with only anger to sustain me and vengeance to drive me. I fear to become the very thing I seek to destroy. A creature of the dark with no hope of light or joy. Or love.”

Legolas gasped with obvious shock. He cupped Elrohir’s chin and forced him to look at him. The archer’s eyes blazed with blue flame.

“No hope of love?” he repeated, his voice shaking slightly. “What then have we given each other all these years? Why do you speak thusly?”

He glared at Elrohir, demanding an explanation.

Elrohir opened his mouth but his eloquence deserted him—quite unexpected for a son of Elrond. He could only mutely stare at Legolas and hope the archer would see his incertitude and prod him no further.

Legolas stared back, his indignation vanishing to be replaced by concern and regret.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, pulling Elrohir more closely against him. “I had the gall to question you when you have endured so much and almost always alone. You have not told Elladan everything, have you? Why, Elrohir? To protect me from his rage?”

“Partly,” Elrohir murmured, pressing his face against the comforting solidity of Legolas’s chest. “But I am also at fault. I did not think it through when I first agreed to this charade.”

He felt Legolas stiffen somewhat. When the archer spoke, his voice was low and tense. “Do you wish to end it now?”

Elrohir lay still, allowing the weave of Legolas’s fingers through his hair to soothe him. Legolas had discerned his loneliness and frustration over his desire for something more than lovers’ trysts. But not that Elrohir’s forbearance was finally running out more swiftly than the treacherous currents of the Loudwater during spring thaw.

“Do you think your people will ever accept me?” he softly asked.

The stroke of Legolas’s hand wavered for an instant then resumed. The archer exhaled and said, “I do not know. But I promised myself to you and I will keep that promise. If it comes to a choice and I must decide between you and them…” Legolas’s mouth tightened, his brow furrowed and his eyes focused unseeingly on some perturbing inner vision. But after a fraught few minutes, he caught a fistful of Elrohir’s hair and lifted it to his lips. “This much I assure you,” he murmured against the dark locks. “I will choose you, Elrohir- _nín_.”

The plea that they wait a while longer remained unsaid but it hung there between them.

Elrohir knew what leaving his home and the people he was sworn to protect would cost not only Legolas but also the Mirkwood folk. Long under creeping siege from the encroaching darkness that blighted their forest, the Wood-elves’ valor and fortitude would be eroded, compromised by abandonment not just by one of their own but the very Elf charged with their care should their king fall victim to the constant attempts on their realm’s very existence.

Much as he yearned for his heart’s desire to be answered at long last, Elrohir knew he did not have it in him to risk endangering the future of an entire kingdom. But to ensure Legolas did not turn his back on his people out of guilt and a sense of obligation to him, he would have to hold his tongue once more.

How could he now tell his lover that hiding the truth was wearing him down bit by vicious bit? That pretending to be a casual bedmate, no more, no less, had become such a burden, his back would have long broken under its weight had it been a tangible thing. How could he confide his downtrodden pride at being deemed a paramour amongst a people who viewed kept lovers with condescending indulgence?

He had chosen to aid and abet the prince’s ruse, declaring himself strong enough to endure the inevitable fallout of pity and derision. How could he admit that he was not so strong after all? That he had learned to resent the shackles shame and secrecy had placed on him.

Elrohir stifled a weary sigh. His forebears were not strangers to sorrow and sacrifice. Indeed, they had embraced their fates if doing so would achieve a greater good be it posterity’s sake, the cessation of war or love for another. He could only hope he was made of the same stern stuff to see him through the uncertain years ahead.

Keeping Legolas’s vow in mind, he lifted his head and met the prince's worried gaze. “I can wait a while longer,” he quietly said.

Legolas pressed a warm kiss to his mouth. “Thank you, _seron vell_ ”—beloved—he whispered. “I would not know what to do were you to refuse.”

Elrohir snuggled further into his embrace. _Neither would I._

****************************  
Glossary:  
Ada – Papa  
Golden Wood – Lothlorien  
Elrondion – son of Elrond  
Loudwater – the Bruinen River in the common tongue  
Elrohir-nín – my Elf-knight


	41. Remedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elladan and Elrohir have always deemed children a blessing but learn the hard way that they can also be most inconvenient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if Arador the grandfather of Aragorn had brothers or close-degree cousins and therefore nephews. It’s not implausible, however, if one goes by the fact that Halbarad, one of Aragorn’s Rangers, was a trusted kinsman.

**Prompt: Thunder**

Rivendell, T.A. 2920  
Elladan strode across the drill yard to the archery field of the Last Homely House. The great space lay behind the barracks, which were separated from the main compound and its gardens by a high hedge. The sound of shrill laughter and high-pitched cries incongruously mingled with the low-voiced shouts and occasional barked retorts of the realm’s warriors.

He took note of the number of lads and lasses gathered behind his twin and the youth he was currently instructing in the proper use of a longbow. One of Arador’s nephews.

The Chieftain of the Dúnedain of the North had come to Rivendell with a number of his people’s womenfolk and children. Their haven in Annuminas had come under threat from brigands in a time when the majority of the Rangers were out in the wild patrolling what remained of the Northern Kingdom. He had scattered the Rangers’ families among several towns and villages known to be well-protected by his men but the greatest number of his folk he brought to the fastness of Rivendell where his son Arathorn had himself resided many years ago. Now Arathorn rode with his father but the sons of their kinsmen were too young as yet to accompany them.

As Elladan neared the group, the lad loosed his arrow. It hit the target just an inch or so off center. The youth let out a jubilant shout while the other children loudly cheered. Elrohir must have sensed his brother’s approach for he turned his head and flashed Elladan a slightly amused smile.

It was evidently the end of the youth’s session for he bent to pick up his gear while the others started to make their way back to the house. Many a young maid blushed as Elladan passed them by, some of them dropping a quick curtsy and most eyeing him as yearningly as they had Elrohir. Elladan shook his head. Girls were girls no matter their culture or race.

He came up to Elrohir in time to hear his twin’s student rather impudently say, “I hear you were importuned by one of my forefathers the night of your majority centuries ago.”

Elrohir looked askance at him, eyebrows raised a little reprovingly. “I did not think Eldacar the sort to tell tales,” he remarked. “And that was a very long while back to be remembered to this day.”

“Oh, he did not tell tales,” the boy airily said. “But his men had not been forbidden to speak of your dalliance and so they did. And you have to admit it made for a good enough tale to enter our lore.”

“Except that there was no dalliance,” Elrohir informed him. “True, he made an overture. But contrary to his men’s assumptions, I turned him down.”

“I thought that was the case. Neither my father nor Uncle Arador ever alluded to a liaison between you and Eldacar.” The lad glanced curiously at Elladan. “Only that you met each other at your majority celebration and that you observed the Númenórean first night rite.”

“I observed it. But my brother declined.”

“Ah, that I did not know. If I may, with whom did you celebrate your first night rite?”

“Rather inquisitive, aren’t you?” Elladan commented.

The lad grinned. “Knowledge is better than coin,” he pointed out. “ I oft get what I want when I know how to go about getting it.”

“He is shrewd for his age,” Elrohir remarked to Elladan. He addressed the youth. “If you must know, I spent the night with a dear friend.”

“Another Elf then? Why did you not choose Eldacar? Have you no curiosity about the ways of Men?”

“I might have had I not already set my sights on the Elf who did share my bed then.”

“Really. Well, what about now?” The boy wagged his eyebrows suggestively. “You’ve shown no interest in our womenfolk. I take it you prefer a less gentle touch. I would not mind providing it.”

Elladan stifled a chuckle while his brother laid a less than benevolent stare on the brash youth.

“I am not in the habit of bedding minors,” he said a little acerbically.

“I will reach my majority soon,” the youth persisted.

“And you will celebrate it with someone else,” Elrohir told him, his voice harder than usual. “Now, I suggest you join the others before Erestor comes looking for you. Believe me, you do not want to be at the end of a tongue lashing from him.”

“He can be most inventive with words when he is angry,” Elladan added.

The boy sighed. “Well, you can’t blame me for trying. You are so very fair, Elrohir. You and Elladan. Far more even than the loveliest of our womenfolk.”

He turned on his heel and followed the others. Elrohir glanced at Elladan.

“Fairer than their womenfolk?” he huffed.

Elladan laughed. “He meant it as high praise, brother.” He eyed Elrohir curiously. “And you turned him down with more force than was necessary.”

Elrohir nodded toward the nearby drill yard where their father’s soldiers sparred with Elves garbed in green and brown.

“I do not care for Thanduil’s folk to carry home tales of any alleged infidelities on my part.”

“So if they were not here, you would have acceded to that youngling’s request?”

“Nay, but I would have likely been less forceful as you say in my refusal.” He folded his arms and looked at Elladan a little darkly. “I belong to only one Elf. You know that, Elladan.”

“But Taur-nu-Fuin must seem so very far away after all these years apart from Legolas,” Elladan pointed out. “I admit to wondering if you’ve ever been tempted.”

Elrohir snorted. “Curious sometimes mayhap, but not enough to desire a tumble with anyone else.” He wrinkled his nose. “Taur-nu-Fuin. After all these years, I still do not like the sound of it. It reminds me too much of the Greenwood’s darkening.”

“You can call it Mirkwood as Men do.”

“I like it no better.” Elrohir stooped and picked up his bow. Adjusting the strap of his quiver, he said, “You did not come out here to watch me train them.”

Elladan shook his head. “I came to grouch,” he admitted. “I won’t be accompanying Glorfindel on patrol. Father requested I stay behind to help you oversee Arador’s folk.”

“Meaning he’s noticed how often I’ve had to cope with many a lovesick maid and boy,” Elrohir said with dour humor. “I never understood until now how well a wedding band can fend off unwanted overtures.”

“Ah, but the overly smitten tend to ignore my wedded state,” Elladan corrected. “Or Father’s for that matter.”

Elrohir stared at him. “Someone importuned _Ada_?”

“One lad and three maidens. _Ada_ asked me to draw them off his trail. I fear I may have succeeded too well. One of the girls left a posy in my sitting room with a matching love letter and the lad wrote me a long and verbose ode promising me everlasting devotion and certain acts that he claimed would make adultery very worth my while!”

“Valar!” Elrohir shuddered. “Small wonder you want to go with Glorfindel.”

“Well, he will only be away a fortnight at most. I should not complain.” Elladan threw an arm over Elrohir’s shoulders. They walked back to the house. “I do hope Legolas makes good on his promise to you and arrives before too long." 

* * * *

Glorfindel did come back within a fortnight much to Elladan’s relief. If he had to put up with one more example of execrably written poetry, he would gladly exile himself in the Dwarven strongholds in the east, he sourly told Elrohir.

He looked out the window of their bedchamber, noticing the downpour outside was now accompanied by lightning and thunder. It had rained all day and Glorfindel and his warriors returned to the valley drenched to the bone. Elf he might be and a pure-blooded one, but Glorfindel did not turn up his nose at the steaming bath Elladan had drawn for him. He now soaked away the cold and aches of a long wet ride while Elladan awaited him in the bedroom.

His impatience was such that hardly did Glorfindel emerge from the bathing chamber when Elladan wrestled him onto their bed. Glorfindel mildly protested his rough handling but his sparkling eyes and husky laughter told Elladan he felt otherwise. Elladan leaned down to seal their mouths together in a scalding kiss, unmindful of a new spate of deafening thunderclaps

If only the Dúnedain children in the apartment next to theirs had proved as oblivious. Elladan jerked up in shock when the door crashed open and four small boys scampered into the room, their eyes wide with fear. Where are their mothers, he wondered with alarm and frustration. Fast on the heels of that thought came the recollection that these children had lost their mothers during the raid on Annuminas that had prompted Arador to evacuate his people to safer places for the season.

Aware of his and Glorfindel’s state of undress, he drew the blanket up over his mate then quickly pulled on his sleeping trousers. He wordlessly motioned to the frightened children to come nearer. They went further and, hurriedly scrambling onto the bed, dove under the covers on Elladan’s side. Elladan stared at them then looked at Glorfindel. He scowled when he saw Glorfindel was doing his best not to laugh.

“I suppose we can’t send them back to their room,” he muttered.

“It would be most unkind,” Glorfindel said. He patted the space between him and the children. “Come, beloved, there is more than enough space for all of us.”

Elladan sighed and slid into the proffered space. Beside him, the boys arranged themselves in a comfortable and reassuring huddle and, smiling happily at him and Glorfindel, dropped off one by one. Elladan sighed again. He could not be churlish in the face of such trust, now could he? But, Valar, his need was too great to sleep away!

He stared at the ceiling, keenly aware of Glorfindel’s warmth and strength beside him. And his nakedness. Elladan groaned when he reached for Glorfindel’s hand under the covers and encountered a hard thigh instead. Farther afield he came upon another hard part of his mate’s body. This time, Glorfindel groaned as well.

Elladan shot a glance at the children. They were fast asleep.

“The bathing room,” he muttered to Glorfindel.

“What?” Glorfindel shook his head. “Are you mad?”

“Aye, with need!”

He clambered over Glorfindel then hauled the captain out of bed and quickly led him to the bathing room. He grabbed a large towel from the supply closet and threw it down on the stone floor. Without further ado, Elladan dropped his trousers then pushed Glorfindel down onto the towel and straddled his groin.

“Wait,” Glorfindel said, stopping Elladan from simply impaling himself on his shaft. “Have a care, beloved. I won’t take you unbalmed.”

Elladan rolled his eyes in exasperation. Due to his haste, neither of them had yet produced enough seed to meet their need. He glanced at the table of toiletries to his right and saw the bottle of oil they used when they massaged each other. He grabbed the bottle and hurriedly smeared a more than generous amount on Glorfindel’s shaft.

“So impatient,” Glorfindel murmured, a small smile curving his mouth.

“I always am when we’ve been apart,” Elladan reminded him. He tossed the bottle aside and positioned himself for penetration.

Glorfindel grasped him by the hips and guided him onto his shaft. They moaned in concert as Elladan sank down on the hard flesh and took in as much of it as he could. He leaned down and treated Glorfindel to a long liquid kiss before commencing the ride he’d been longing for the past two weeks.

It did not take them long to find the rhythm that best served their purpose. Elladan started out slow, savoring the faint exciting burn of Glorfindel’s shaft sliding into his backside, constantly brushing that point within him that would ensure an intense and extended orgasm when he spent himself. He whispered Glorfindel’s name as he steadily ascended to the peaks of pleasure.

“Elladan!” Glorfindel softly exclaimed, his voice harsh with passion. “I will spend forthwith if you don’t slow down.”

Hearing the low rough timber of Glofindel’s voice only heightened the delicious tension in Elladan’s groin.

“Do it then,” he gasped. “Fill me, Glorfindel. Mark me.”

“Not without you,” Glorfindel growled.

He gripped Elladan’s shaft and stroked it briskly, the calluses on his palm and fingers adding a wondrous friction to each caress. Elladan struggled not to cry out when the rapture grew too great. The tension in his belly started to come undone, spurring him to quicken his movements. He shuddered when he felt Glorfindel’s answering thrusts, the lift of his mate’s hips driving his shaft deep into him.

Elladan ground his buttocks down in instinctive retaliation. Glorfindel gasped then muttered an imprecation. He gripped Elladan’s hips hard enough to leave faint bruises on his flesh and brusquely shoved his shaft into him. It proved too much.

Elladan nearly bellowed his ecstasy, only managing to suppress himself by pressing the knuckles of one hand against his mouth. He was all but shattered however by the sight of Glorfindel in the throes of rapture, his golden hair almost spread in a wild splendid halo on the floor, his brilliant eyes glazing over with pleasure and his heaving chest now dappled with Elladan’s seed. Elladan sobbed as he felt himself filled with liquid heat, testament to Glorfindel’s ownership of his body, heart and spirit.

He waited for the last of his orgasm to play out and his body to calm down. With a contented sigh, he lifted himself off Glorfindel's shaft then bent to kiss him.

“What are you doing?”

They both stilled. Elladan saw that Glorfindel was staring in dismay at something. Or rather someone, Elladan discovered when he took a peek to his side and found one of the children standing in the doorway. He was staring back at them, his eyes wide with wonder and curiosity.

Elladan thought quickly. Eru forbid the child learned about bed play way before it was proper.

“Halbarad, am I right?” he ventured. The boy nodded. “I, ah, I was helping Glorfindel relax,” Elladan explained. “He just returned from patrol and was suffering from the effects of a long hard ride.” Elladan lightly swatted Glorfindel when his mate snickered. Snatching up the bottle of oil, he added, “He was tired and his muscles ached and so I thought a nice massage would help him sleep.“

Young Halbarad glanced at the bottle then peered at Glorfindel, admiration gleaming clearly in his eyes. The twins inspired hero worship but Glorfindel was an awe-inspiring legend to say the least.

“Do you feel better?” Halbarad asked.

Glorfindel made a visible effort not to guffaw and solemnly replied, “Very much better. Elladan is very good at what he does.”

“Does he do this all the time?”

“As often as I need his attention.”

“And sometimes, Glorfindel takes care of me,” Elladan interjected. “Now why don’t you go back to sleep, Halbarad? We need to wash up before returning to bed.”

“All right, Elladan,” Halbarad said. With a small yawn, he toddled out of the chamber.

Elladan blew his breath out then gazed down at Glorfindel. They burst into hushed chuckles.

“I won’t say it,” Glorfindel began.

“But you did try to tell me so,” Elladan finished for him. “I suppose it would be pushing our luck were I to go on as I planned.”

“What did you plan?”

“To have my way with you in turn.”

Glorfindel groaned and shook his head. “I should not have asked.” He ran the back of his hand down Elladan’s cheek. “We can’t chance it tonight. But tomorrow…”

Elladan grinned. “Aye, tomorrow.”

* * * *

They all rose rather late the following day given the night’s interrupted sleep. While Glorfindel stopped by the healing rooms to visit an injured warrior, Elladan ushered the children to the dining hall for the morning meal.

He started when he caught sight of the Elf by Elrohir’s side at one of the tables in the middle of the hall. Predictably, several of the older Dúnedain children had seated themselves nearby, the maids gawking at the handsome newcomer and the youths warily taking his measure.

“Legolas!” Elladan exclaimed, as he approached them, extending his hand in greeting to the Mirkwood prince. “When in Arda did you arrive?”

“Less than a half hour ago,” Legolas replied, returning Elladan’s grip. “I had a promise to keep.”

Noting Elrohir’s quiet joy, Elladan smiled. “I hope you had an uneventful trip coming here,” he said, taking his seat opposite his brother and Legolas.

“Uneventful but tiring nonetheless,” Legolas replied.

An attendant placed a basket of scones fresh from the oven on one end of the table. Legolas absently reached for a scone then winced and gingerly rolled his shoulder.

“What happened?” Elrohir asked as he placed a hand on the afflicted shoulder and gently kneaded it.

Legolas softly groaned at his soothing touch. “A hare spooked my horse when we crossed the pass,” he explained. “He reared up and nearly threw me when I looked back to account for all my people. I think I wrenched my shoulder then. Ah, I could really use a good massage, Elrohir- _nín_.”

To Elladan’s horror, a familiar voice piped up behind him and said, “Elladan can do it! He took good care of Glorfindel last night.”

The other children stared at him in surprise. The lad from yesterday leaned forward and said, “How do you know that, Halbarad?”

“We stayed in their room last night when the thunder scared us,” Halbarad answered. “So I saw them. Glorfindel was very happy afterwards.”

“I should hope so,” Legolas murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching suspiciously.

Elladan glared at him but before he could speak, Halbarad added, “Only you’ll have to take off your clothes for the massage to work!”

The older children evidently comprehended then that Halbarad had witnessed much more than a therapeutic procedure judging from their avid expressions. Thankfully, the little ones remained as ignorant of the situation as Halbarad. But their continued innocence was of little comfort to Elladan when their older companions now stared at him with salacious fascination.

“But how did you come to see Elladan give Glorfindel that ... massage?” Elrohir asked, casting his brother a mild but reproachful glare. “Don’t tell me they did it in bed right next to you.”

Halbarad shook his head. “They did it in the bathing room. And I don’t know why, but Elladan made Glorfindel lie down on a towel on the floor. Maybe it was easier to get on top of him that way?”

Elrohir’s glare turned into a highly amused stare while Legolas dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, obviously covering a grin.

“What say you?” Elrohir murmured to Legolas. “Should I try Elladan’s technique on you?”

Legolas snorted. “By all means though I fail to see how it will help ease a sore shoulder.”

“Oh, but it will!” Halbarad helpfully assured them. “Glorfindel sounded like he enjoyed himself very much.”

Elladan ran a hand over his overheated face. He turned a jaundiced glower on his snickering brother.

“Next time, I’m sending them to _your_ room!”

*************************************  
Glossary:  
Ada – Papa  
Elrohir-nín – my Elrohir


	42. Princeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins are as much healers as they are warriors and they are reminded of this when instead of ending lives they usher one precious life into the world.

**Prompt: Birth**

T.A. 2931.  
"Sit. She is well tended by her own mother who has helped many a babe into this world. But if aught goes awry, rest assured, Elladan and I will step in."  


Arathorn ran a hand distractedly through his dark hair, tousling the strands into an even more unruly mop. Elrohir smirked and, raising his hand behind the anxious father-to-be, surreptitiously flicked a wildly errant lock into place.

“I do not recall our folk being so beset by an imminent birthing,” Elladan commented. “Joyous, aye, and elated beyond words, but nothing like this hand-wringing of yours, cousin.”

The Ranger cast him an indignant glare but failed to summon a smart rejoinder. He curled his lips into a scowl and looked away, his cheeks coloring slightly.

The twins let him stew for a while. They could not blame him for worrying so. His father Arador had died just the previous year in the Coldfells north of Imladris at the hands of hill-trolls. It had been wholly unexpected for Arador was a canny tracker and hunter with a fine sense of foreboding when danger lurked.

But the unexpected had long dogged the steps of the Dúnedain and was part and parcel of their fates. Small wonder something as natural as a birthing had the power to unman Arathorn now fifteenth Chieftain of the Northern Dúnedain. Furthermore, the conversion of a sparsely furnished chamber in the ruined royal residence in Annúminas into a birthing room could hardly be reassuring. Especially to someone who had virtually grown to manhood in Rivendell surrounded by all the wonders and, to a mere mortal wanderer, amenities of an elven realm.

It had been their intention to move Gilraen to Imladris when the time of birthing drew near. Arathorn had heartily approved the plan. But unfortunately, as was usual for a nomadic community, delays abounded. Before they realized it, it was time for Gilraen to give birth to her first child.

She’d awakened this morning to the first signs of labor. Her widowed mother Ivorwen had forthwith ejected Arathorn from their makeshift quarters and, with the twins’ help, quickly prepared both her daughter and the room for the birthing. Believing Ivorwen had everything in hand, the brothers stepped out of the chamber to find Arathorn pacing outside, practically chewing his nails to the quick.

Taking pity, they pulled up a bench and bade him seat himself. Arathorn did so but did not cease to nigh fret himself sick. Sitting on either side of him, Elladan and Elrohir had done their best to soothe his frazzled nerves.

_Why is it the bravest and strongest men who invariably fall apart when their wives give birth?_

Elrohir softly chuckled his assent to Elladan’s unvoiced comment.

“Stop worrying,” he said to Arathorn. “Gilraen is no delicate kit. She may look fragile but she is stronger than many a heartier woman we’ve come across in our wanderings. She can ride and hunt as well as you. Think you this would daunt her?”

Arathorn blew his breath out. “And you are certain naught will go wrong?” he muttered.

“We cannot promise that,” Elladan replied. “Even the best-laid plans can fail. But we will help should there be any complications Ivorwen cannot manage.”

At that moment, a frowning Ivorwen poked her head out the door. Her eyes quickly alighted on the twins. “The child is coming out feet first,” she informed them.

Elrohir glanced at his brother. A breech presentation was not necessarily dangerous, but it could be cause for concern, particularly if the babe got stuck in the birth canal. And neither twin cared to cut Gilraen’s belly open in these less than pristine surroundings with only the rudiments of surgical instruments between them.

They got to their feet and started for the door. Arathorn caught Elrohir’s tunic by the hem. “Wait! She said feet first. Is that natural?”

Elrohir tried to disengage himself from Arathorn’s grip as gently as possible. “As natural as any birth,” he said, tugging at his tunic a little more forcefully when Arathorn failed to let go.

“Then why do they need your help?” Arathorn asked suspiciously.

“Because I have not assisted at such a birthing before,” Ivorwen tartly interjected. “Now will you let the brethren lend me their skill or not, son of Arador?”

With a chastened grimace, Arathorn released Elrohir and the twins hastened into the birthing room after Ivorwen.

* * * *

The babe twitched spasmodically as Elladan drew it out. It was a little blue around the mouth. Elladan gingerly kneaded its tiny chest while Elrohir cut the birthing cord.

The twins shared a quick worried look. They had assured Arathorn that his wife would weather the birthing well. They had not made false promises regarding his child. Eru forbid their reticence proved prophetic.

Gilraen tiredly called to them from where she reclined partially propped up on pillows. “Does he live?” she fearfully asked, a frown creasing her forehead.

Before Elladan could reply, the babe suddenly shuddered. Its mouth opened and a lusty wail filled the room. Elladan laughed in relief and handed the infant to its mother. Gilraen happily held her son to her breast while Ivorwen leaned over them to coo her affection at her grandchild.

Elladan glanced at Elrohir as his brother clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank Eru he came through,” Elrohir said. “I did not relish the thought of telling Arathorn his son did not make it.”

“And after chiding him for being a worrywart,” Elladan agreed.

As Ivorwen proceeded to give her grandson his first wash, the twins opened the door and motioned to Arathorn to enter. The Ranger lurched to his feet and virtually stumbled into the room.

“Gilraen?” He hurried to wife and took her hand in his. “Ah, I was so frightened for you!”

“For no good reason,” Gilraen scolded him affectionately. “Behold, husband, you have a son!”

Arathorn looked up at Ivorwen as she bore the child now wrapped in swaddling to him. He took his son in his arms and eagerly looked him over. A moment later, he started then stared at the babe in some consternation.

The infant alternately pursed its lips and parted them wide to reveal pink gums. It then screwed up its face and opened one eye to squint at its startled sire. Whereupon, the babe’s face turned red as a beet and he emitted a strident cry. Arathorn, his face fast paling, looked entreatingly at the twins.

“The Valar help me!” he exclaimed. “What is wrong with him?”

Elrohir put a fist to his mouth to smother his laughter while Elladan looked away to hide his mirth. Ivorwen, however, turned on Arathorn in indignation.

“For shame, Arathorn!” Ivorwen sputtered. “What a thing to say of your own son!” She all but snatched the child from him. “There is naught wrong with my grandchild!”

Gilraen giggled and lifted her hand to stroke her befuddled husband’s hair. “All babes are like that,” she told him.

“They are?” Arathorn looked quite stricken. “Eru preserve us.”

Elladan guffawed while Elrohir shook his head at the Ranger. “Don’t dig a deeper grave than you have already,” he advised, tilting his head in a glowering Ivorwen’s direction.

Arathorn caught his breath then nodded and managed a placating smile for his law-mother.

“What will you name him?” Elladan asked.

“What? Oh, Gilraen and I agreed beforehand that if it were a son, we would call him Aragorn.”

The brethren paused, exchanging dubious glances.

_But was not the first Aragorn killed by wolves?_

_Never you mind, Elrohir. No sense scaring him all over again._

“What is it?” Arathorn interrupted their silent conversation. “Do you not approve?”

“It matters not what we think,” Elladan pointed out. “If you wish to make him the second to carry that name, that is your right.”

“We wager he’ll grow to be worthy of it,” Elrohir said. _They all do._

Arathorn smiled, calm returning and with it some dignity. He held his arms out for Aragorn. Somewhat mollified, Ivorwen complied.

Elladan and Elrohir watched their kinsman and his wife cuddle and fuss over their son.

_May they know great joy in the time they have together._

Elrohir glanced at Elladan, then sighed a little sadly and nodded. With a last look at the little family, the twins left the chamber.


	43. Timeout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins indulge in play with their father’s latest fosterling.

**Prompt: Water**

Imladris T.A. 2935  
The high-pitched laughter of a child pierced the summer quiet. It was pleasant to the ears and soothing to the soul. Elrohir chuckled as his brother repeatedly dunked little Estel neck deep. On a sweltering day like this, a dip in the cool waters of the Bruinen’s calmer tributary was a temptation too desirable to resist. Even immersing one's self just to the waist was very refreshing.

Estel was obviously enjoying his first swimming lesson. The boy was all noise and mirth and neither Elrohir nor Elladan could help laughing along with him. This child of Arathorn was simply adorable to put it mildly. A pity his father had died so soon. Now it was up to Elrond and his sons to ensure Arathorn’s heir was raised in the tradition of the Chiefs of the northern Dúnedain—as a warrior-to-be and a king-in-waiting.

“I want to go to ‘Rohir,” Estel begged Elladan.

Whereupon Elladan sent him slicing through the water toward Elrohir. Estel, as the child Aragorn was now known in Imladris, had quickly learned the art of lying afloat and loved being treated as a water missile of sorts. He giggled victoriously as he managed to dog paddle the last few inches into the safety of Elrohir’s arms.

“Well done, Estel,” Elrohir said as he lifted the boy in his arms.

“Again!” Estel crowed in delight, pointing in Elladan’s direction.

Elrohir sent him off, watching the child with pride as he made his way to Elladan. He would be bone-tired after this, and in need of a lengthy nap. But the memories would linger long after the aches and pains of this exercise and that mattered more.

Such pleasures would see Estel through the inevitable darker days when he grew into his inheritance. The Valar knew there were times when only memory sustained Elrohir and kept him from giving in to sorrow and despair.

Elladan called to him. “Estel wants to learn how to tread water. What do you think? Might he be overdoing it?”

“The worst that could happen is a longer nap than usual,” Elrohir said. “And perhaps a visit to the healing halls for any aches. But otherwise, this seems a good way to expend that boundless energy he possesses. Certainly the household staff will be grateful for the respite.”

The brethren grinned at each other. Estel was proving as much a handful as Elladan and Elrohir had been in their childhood. Many of the Last Homely House’s residents gave thanks daily for the fact that he was only one unlike the days when life was enlivened by Elrond’s twin terrors.

“Come then, little one,” Elladan said. “Let us see if you can manage another lesson.”

“I can, I can” Estel insisted, his eyes alight with excitement. “I’m going to learn how to stand up in water!”

“I am sure you will.”

Elrohir watched his brother teach the boy how to paddle his legs to keep himself afloat while upright. So absorbed was he that he did not notice anything amiss until a pair of arms wound around him from behind.

“Fie on you, son of Elrond,” Legolas murmured. “What did I tell you long ago about letting your guard down?”

Elrohir snorted though he flashed a smile over his shoulder at the prince. “I warrant the chances of being assaulted here are as great as you missing a target in the archery yard.”

“You esteem my skills overmuch.”

“Nay, it is you who underestimates them.”

Legolas rested his chin on Elrohir’s shoulder. “You flatter me. But I did not venture here to discuss my merits or yours.” He dipped his head slightly to plant a kiss on said shoulder. “I see the young Dúnadan is eager to learn.”

“Always.” Elrohir allowed himself to lean back against Legolas when the archer drew him into a closer embrace. “He has a zest for everything life has to offer."

“But will he be able to meet all the challenges as well?”

“I imagine so. He is certainly feisty enough.”

Elrohir sighed when Legolas pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. If his lover kept doing that…

Estel suddenly laughed and, pointing in their direction, shrieked, “Look, ‘Adan! Legolas keeps kissing ‘Rohir!”

Legolas stared at Estel in befuddlement. “What is so funny?” he asked a little indignantly.

Elladan shook his head and looked at his pupil with a mixture of resignation and amusement. He perched Estel on a rock jutting out of the water to allow him a brief rest.

“He came upon Glorfindel and me one day. We were, er, showing our affection for each other.”

“You mean you were all over each other,” Elrohir corrected. He glanced sideways at Legolas. “In the pantry.”

“The pantry? Why—?”

“I went to see if we still had those tropical preserves we brought in from the south a while back,” Elladan explained. “For Estel’s afternoon snack. Glorfindel happened by and, well…”

“Glorfindel can never resist Elladan when he’s clad in naught but undershirt and breeches and barefooted to boot,” Elrohir put in.

“I’d had a wrestling bout with you,” Elladan patiently said. “For Estel’s viewing pleasure,” he clarified for Legolas’s benefit.

“I should have liked to see that,” Legolas remarked, his eyes sparkling devilishly. “So did Glorfindel accidentally happen upon you or did he seek you out?”

“He says it was accidental.” Elladan shrugged. “He gave me no reason to doubt his intentions.”

“Or time to question his veracity,” Elrohir quipped. “In any case, Elladan took so long fetching Estel’s snack that Estel decided to follow and see what was delaying him. Needless to say, he got quite an eyeful. Really, brother, when will you learn to lock the door? Remember that time Halbarad caught you and Glorfindel in full rut?”

“We had finished by the time Halbarad saw us,” Elladan retorted. “But to get back to the subject, Estel thought we looked funny. And ever since, he’s deemed it the height of hilarity when anyone kisses or cuddles.”

“Or in any way shows himself lovesick or stricken with lust,” Elrohir concluded.

“Sweet Eru, he had better not carry that notion into maturity,” Legolas exclaimed. “Else that may prove the end of the line of the Kings!”

Elrohir smirked. “I doubt he will continue to think thusly when he is paid his first compliment by a comely lass.”

“Or catches a glimpse of some fair damsel’s graces,” Elladan said. He eyed his charge judiciously. “I dare say, he will feel something other than amusement then.”

“You had better hope he does,” Legolas commented. “Or you might wind up having to teach him the whys and wherefores of romance and the like.”

“Why me?”

“Because 'twas you who sent him down the wrong path to begin with.”

Elladan rolled his eyes. Just then, Estel insistently reached out his pudgy arms and Elladan plucked the child from his perch.

“Just one more round,” he declared. “I dare not incur the ire of your nurses should you complain of sniffles and aching muscles all night long.”

He set off once more with an eager Estel. Elrohir smiled indulgently as he watched them.

Estel was really such a sweet child. And a very affectionate one, too. He had brought back much cheer to a house that had long mourned loss and languished in grief. And it was due to him that the twins had further reduced their journeying abroad in order to help their father raise the family's newest fosterling. It was good to see Elrond’s smiles reach his eyes once more.

Legolas pressed another kiss to the top of his shoulder. Or rather a trail of them from the crook of Elrohir’s neck to the curve of his shoulder.

Keeping a wary eye on Estel, Elrohir murmured, “Legolas, the child…”

“Is too busy to pay attention to us right now.”

Elrohir caught his breath when something prodded him from behind, slipping slightly into the cleft of his buttocks.

“Surely you’re not thinking of providing him with further amusement.” He gasped when Legolas’s hand slowly slid down the side of his hip to grip one thigh. “And suspect amusement at that!”

“Then tell Elladan to bring Estel back to the house. It is time for his nap, isn’t it?”

Elrohir glanced at Legolas, the severity of his look at variance with the response of his lower body. Not daring to catch Estel’s notice by speaking out loud, he let his thoughts wing their way to Elladan.

Elladan looked back at them and grinned knowingly. Nodding, he scooped up a protesting Estel, saying, “That is enough for today, my little warrior. You have the whole summer ahead of you and I promise Elrohir and I will have you swimming the Bruinen before too long.”

The prospect of a dip in the river itself drove all thoughts of protest out of the boy’s head. He let Elladan bear him up the bank to where their clothes lay in tidy heaps.

“What about ‘Rohir and Legolas?” Estel’s voice carried clearly to Elrohir. “Aren’t they coming out yet?”

Elladan glanced over his shoulder at his brother. Raising his voice as well, he replied, “They have not finished playing yet.”

“They haven’t? But what game are they playing, ‘Adan?”

Elrohir wanted to answer but the sensation of hard flesh filling him up and the movement of an enterprising hand from his thigh to his groin robbed him of speech. He stifled a moan and, turning to look at Legolas, treated him to a half-hearted glare. Legolas smiled back, his eyes darkened tellingly and one corner of his mouth turned upward in a rakish curve.

Elrohir heard Elladan guffaw.

“Well, Estel, I can assure you it is definitely _not_ child’s play!”


	44. Unforeseen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrohir discovers he may not be the only Peredhil to know a bittersweet love.

**Prompt: She**

Imladris, T. A. 2951  
“Why the long face, brother?”

Elrohir looked up at his twin with a start. He’d been so deep in thought, he’d failed to sense Elladan as the latter approached him where he sat on a stone bench on the long terrace overlooking the Bruinen’s tributary. Shrugging, he trained his eyes once more on the tumbling waters of the tributary falls.

“I just discovered Estel’s secret,” he said.

“Secret? Ah, you mean what has distracted him to the point of doing poorly at his last training match?”

“Aye, that secret.” Elrohir hesitated then glanced at Elladan. “Estel is in love.”

Elladan stared at him with some consternation. His reaction was not surprising. It was rather hard to associate the youth they both deemed a baby brother with romance and all that it entailed. Furthermore, though he’d been raised among the Elves. Estel was no Elf and that meant the certainty of heartache should he attach himself to one of the denizens of the valley realm.

“I take it she is of Imladris.”

“She is.”

“Well, that is unfortunate.” Elladan shook his head. “Surely he realizes there can be no happy future for them. Come the end of his life, they will be parted forevermore and he will leave a heartbroken wife behind. Not to mention the possibility of children forced to make a choice as we are.”

“If she were an ordinary Elf, aye, that would be their lot,” Elrohir softly agreed.

“If she…” Elladan frowned. “What do you mean…?” He caught his breath then harshly whispered, “ _Arwen_?” Elrohir nodded. “But how do you know?”

“I saw them together. There was no mistaking what he felt. But I spoke with him nonetheless, hoping against hope that I’d perceived wrongly.” Elrohir blew his breath out. “Alas, I did not.”

Elladan sat down heavily beside Elrohir, indication of his shock and misgivings.

“But what of Arwen?” he asked. “Does she return his love?”

“I fear she does. Her actions bespeak her feelings or have you not noticed how evasive she has been with us of late?” Elrohir grimaced. “She has been pondering her choice. And her fate.”

“ _Has_? Think you she has chosen?” When Elrohir did not reply, but only looked down at his tightly clasped hands, Elladan sadly remarked, “So the lines of the Peredhil will be one again. Yet I cannot find much joy in the knowledge. Not when I count the cost to our family.”

“And here I’d thought ’twas my fate alone to toil for love’s sake,” Elrohir said with a bitter laugh. “Estel will face much hardship before he can claim her. He will know sorrow and frustration and hopelessness, as I have all these years. But unlike me, his travails will come to an end one day, in ill or good.”

Elladan gripped Elrohir’s clasped hands. “Hush, do not speak so! Do not break my heart as well!”

Elrohir stared at him and saw how stricken his twin looked. He unclasped his hands and threw an arm around Elladan’s shoulders. 

Drawing him close, he quietly said, “I am sorry, I did not mean to pain you, Elladan. Not on top of such doleful news.”

“Legolas will not leave you adrift much longer,” Elladan asserted. “I can feel it in my bones. The time is nearing when he must act. Then you will be free at last. For that weighs you down almost as much as the waiting. Being in between and not able to move, either to retreat or go forward.”

“You do know me so well,” Elrohir murmured with a small smile. He added, “I pray you are right.”

“I am.” Elladan smiled back. “When has my foresight failed?”

“When you were chasing Glorfindel?” Elrohir suggested.

Elladan huffed an embarrassed chuckle. “Say rather I did not pay attention, overwrought as I was by the possibility of vain pursuit. Otherwise, you have to admit, my foresight does not play me false.”

“Thus far,” Elrohir agreed. “There is always a first time, not to mention exceptions to the rule.”

“Are you trying to scare me?” Elladan growled.

Elrohir laughed. “Nay, I am merely bringing you down a peg or two.”

“And that is supposed to make me feel better?” Elladan huffed.

The bell for the midday meal chimed, calling their attention back to the here and now. Elladan stood up and held out his hand to Elrohir. He pulled his twin to his feet.

“You do believe me?” he asked, regarding Elrohir searchingly.

Elrohir looked to the east. To Mirkwood. “I believe the time is nigh when all choices will need to be made.” He silenced Elladan with a finger to his lips. “Which fills me with hope. And that is a necessity in these trying times, brother mine.”

Elladan gazed at him a long while. At length, he nodded. After briefly hugging Elrohir, he led the way back to the house.


	45. Ephemeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When they meet again after so many years, a lengthy reunion proves frustratingly elusive for Elrohir and Legolas.

**Prompt: Passing**

Imladris, T.A. 3018  
Returning home from the wild was sometimes daunting, Elrohir thought, as he and Elladan entered the spacious courtyard of the Last Homely House, awash in pale rose and gold in the slowly failing light. After months and sometimes years of almost always feeling on edge, never sleeping so soundly as to miss the presence of a foe or dining on meals one gathered or ran to ground, the peace and security of the valley realm could be actually disquieting. Once you got accustomed to rough living and watching out for one’s comrades-in-arms, slipping back into a life of ease and simple luxury could elicit feelings of guilt. This was especially so when one survived an encounter once again when so many had not. 

As he dismounted, he strove to drive such thoughts from his mind. It served no one, himself least of all, to allow them to haunt him and perhaps distract him from what needed his attention in the here and now. This proved the case when, as he turned from handing his loyal steed to the stable hands, he was swept into a tight embrace and treated to a hard, breath-stealing kiss. A glimpse of green and brown raiment and sun-bright hair and a tantalizing whiff of forest herbs, leaf-shaded springs and the moss-scented breeze that wafted between ancient trees was all he needed to identify the Elf who dared such intimacy with him.

He had not even sensed Legolas’s approach, he ruefully realized, as he submitted to his lover’s welcome. That came of dwelling on matters he should have left at the valley’s figurative threshold instead of focusing on what might have come to pass in Imladris during his absence. Legolas apparently suspected as much for when he finally released Elrohir, he laid a reproachful gaze on him.

“Your mind has not yet caught up with the rest of you, has it?” he murmured, stroking the back of his knuckles down one cheek. “You looked distracted as you rode in. And I dare say you did not even see me come forth.”

Elrohir leaned into his touch. “I did not expect you to be here,” he replied. “But that is no excuse not to have sensed your presence sooner,” he hastily admitted at the kindling fire in Legolas’s eyes. “I admit I am not quite myself yet. That is, I am more Ranger than Elrond’s son at the moment.”

Legolas regarded him with concern. At length, he pressed another kiss to his iips and then wrapped an arm around Elrohir’s shoulders. “We shall have to remedy that. You are home, Elf-knight, and I would have you with me, heart, body and soul.”

His words sloughed off some of the residual tension Elrohir still felt in his very bones. He smiled and, slipping his arm around Legolas’s waist, allowed the archer to lead him back to the house. From the corner of his eyes, he realized Glorfindel had likewise come out to welcome them and was now tending to Elladan as solicitously as Legolas had done for Elrohir. Even more so, he observed as he walked past them. 

After kissing Elladan nigh breathless, Glorfindel held him close in his arms, their foreheads pressed together, their eyes closed, as they whispered to each other. This had been one of those times Glorfindel had been unable to ride out with them. Elrohir guessed he had missed Elladan acutely and feared for him even more. Their spousal bond would have heightened the sorrow and emptiness of separation in a way Elrohir could not yet know. 

Given how much he yearned for Legolas’s company at all times, how unbearable the distance between them sometimes seemed, Elrohir could not imagine how much more intense the pain and longing was for mated Elves. The question came to him unbidden as such questions did while his emotions were raw and unfettered, which they tended to be when he was newly returned from questing. 

_Will I ever know what if feels like?_

He brushed aside the thought almost as swiftly as it formed. Legolas was here, wholly unlooked for, but Elrohir was not about to complain about this blessing. Or waste precious time wondering about the reason behind it. 

“Aragorn is here,” Legolas told him as they entered the house. “He arrived with four Halflings in tow.”

“Halflings?” Elrohir stared at him. A moment later, he sharply asked, “Bilbo Baggins’s kin?”

“It seems so.”

“Why? Do you know why?”

Legolas shook his head. “Lord Elrond promised to reveal all tomorrow at council. For now, only he and Mithrandir know the full tale. Perhaps Glorfindel too given that ’twas he who found them. But if he does know, he has not spoken of it either. The one named Frodo was half dead from a Morgul wound. It took all your father’s skill to heal him. I had not seen Mithrandir look so fearful for anyone in all the years I have known him.” 

Elrohir digested the information quickly, inferring as much from what Legolas had not known enough to mention, as well as the stated facts. 

“Where is Estel?” he asked. “I think he will be interested in the news Elladan and I have gathered.”

“Your father and Arwen have gone to the Hall of Fire so perhaps he is there too.”

“We must speak with him first.” Elrohir signaled to his brother as Elladan and Glorfindel strode down the hallway toward him. He slipped his arm from around Legolas but clasped his hand briefly. “Shall we meet in my quarters or yours?”

“Yours,” Legolas said with a smile. “I shall have a warm bath drawn for you. I imagine you have need of one.”

He kissed Elrohir again before walking away. Elrohir waited for Elladan to join him and the twins went in search of their foster brother.

* * * *

Elrohir groaned as Legolas kneaded the last of the kinks from his shoulders and back. The earlier fragrant, herb-strewn bath had been restorative but only up to a point. There was nothing like a good massage to ease the soreness from abused muscles. He half buried his face in the pillow beneath his head, relishing its softness and freshly laundered scent.

“Here?” Legolas murmured, his oil-slick fingers working magic down Elrohir’s spine.

“Yes,” Elrohir virtually hissed as another sore spot revealed itself. He glanced over his shoulder at Legolas. “You did not mention coming for a visit in your last letter. Has anything happened in Mirkwood to require one?”

Legolas’s hands stilled for a moment. At length, he continued with his ministrations but when he answered, he seemed rather edgy. “I came to make a report to Mithrandir and also Aragorn on behalf of Father. They asked a favor of us and we granted it.” His voice tightened. “Unfortunately, we can no longer continue to carry it out due to unforeseen circumstances.”

Elrohir itched to ask more but the tone of Legolas’s voice indicated the archer did not care to talk about the matter. At least not just yet. 

“Will you speak of it at the council tomorrow?” he ventured.

“If it proves of great enough import,” Legolas replied.

So Legolas was reluctant to talk about it even then. Elrohir wondered if the matter had aught to do with the Wood-elves’ pride. Perhaps struck a blow at it? Something that had forced them to renege on an agreement would certainly inflict a deep feeling of shame and anger on so proud a people.

“I leave it to your judgment then,” he said. He cast another glance at the archer along with a smile. “I am glad you are here now whatever your reasons. I missed you, my prince.” 

“I missed you too, Elrohir- _nín_ ,” Legolas softly said. 

_My Elrohir_. It had been so long since he’d heard the endearment from his woodland lover. Elrohir wondered how much longer he could bear their lengthy separations.

He was struggling against a wave of melancholy when Legolas’s fingers slid between his buttocks, effectively waylaying his maudlin thoughts. Before he could react further, the fingers pressed deep into him, twisting slightly in explicit indication of the prince’s intent. They withdrew halfway and then slid back in, deeper than before.

Elrohir gasped and clutched at the corners of the pillow. He closed his eyes as the teasing incursions continued. When last had he known such physical intimacy? He could not recall.

“You did not dally with others while we were apart?” Legolas asked though it sounded more like a demand for assurance.

“You know I have lain with you alone,” Elrohir managed to say. 

“I wish I did know it for certain,” Legolas murmured. He bent low over Elrohir’s back, dropping kisses on the Elf-knight’s spine up to his shoulders. “I imagine temptation abounds amongst the company you’ve kept these many years abroad.”

The allusion to the Rangers of the North was not unexpected. Of all the race of Men, the Dúnedain stood out by dint of their nobler lineage and grander destiny. Though Aragorn alone bore many of the bodily attributes of one of Elven blood, his people had not lost the greater beauty and stature of their forebears. If there were any mortals in Middle-earth fair enough to tempt the Firstborn, it would be the Men of the West. 

Elrohir snorted. “For certes, I have indeed been tempted. In my loneliness and my body’s need for comforting. As you have been I’d wager,” he challenged when Legolas growled lowly. 

He felt his hair brushed aside and the latch of lips onto his nape. Kisses trailed to the side of his throat and then up to his ear where Legolas licked and nibbled the sensitive skin. Elrohir could not stifle his low moan at the mild assault, so at variance with the intrusive strokes of the prince’s fingers into his body.

“I’ll have you know _I_ was never tempted,” Legolas whispered into his ear. “But you Peredhil are a race unto yourselves. There are none who can compare to you, neither Elves nor Men. Once one has supped of your graces, all others suffer in comparison and thus pose no temptation at all.” He lightly bit the tip of Elrohir’s ear before soothing the sting with a lazy swipe of his tongue. “I would have preferred to hear you felt likewise.”

With a suddenness that took Elrohir’s breath away along with his ability to speak, Legolas pulled out his fingers and replaced them with his shaft. He drove into Elrohir without a word, not ungently by any means, but far from slow and tender as was his wont when they had not coupled in a long while.

Elrohir braced himself against the vigorous thrusts, the still coherent part of his rapidly clouding mind recognizing the intensely possessive nature of his breaching. Sweet Eru, he’d forgotten the last time Legolas had given in to jealousy and how he had expressed it. Delight mingled with a smidgeon of dismay. Not that Elrohir disliked the prince’s way of restaking his claim on him. Legolas’s love for him and ownership of his heart came through with shattering clarity as much in the primal couplings of their bodies as with sweet and tender lovemaking. But he did not wish to instill doubt of his steadfastness in his lover’s mind.

When release came, Elrohir thought he would lose consciousness, so powerful and exquisite was his pleasure. He clung to awareness, however, determined to enjoy every moment of long foregone bodily union with the Elf he loved. When Legolas spent inside him, he savored experiencing all over again this act of utmost intimacy between them.

They lay in companionable silence afterward, Elrohir on his back, Legolas partly atop him, his head on Elrohir’s chest. Elrohir ran his fingers through the wild spill of flaxen locks on his shoulder and arms. He could now feel relief and happiness in this return to the valley. It was good to be home. A moment later, it occurred to him that anywhere Legolas happened to be was home to him and that was what made it feel so good. He smiled into the candlelight glow at the thought.

“Methinks I must see to your needs enough to keep temptation at bay next time you leave for the wild,” Legolas muttered, displeasure still suffusing his voice.

Elrohir pushed down the surge of mirth that threatened to express itself in laughter. Legolas would not take that well at all. He slipped curled fingers under Legolas’s chin to compel the archer to lift his head and meet his gaze.

“Temptation was not the right word,” Elrohir amended. “Rather, the yearning within would pain me so at times that I envied the others their freedom to find release as they desired. And I was jealous of the communion Elladan and Glorfindel’s binding gives them whenever I saw how it helped them endure when they were apart. I have no such recourse after all. But rest you, Legolas, there was never _anyone_ who tempted me as you did from our first meeting. No one who can match you. No one who fills my heart or completes me as you do.” 

Legolas gazed at him long and searchingly. When Elrohir did not flinch under his regard, he sighed and lowering his head, dropped a kiss on the Elf-knight’s chest. 

“I had no right to chide you,” he tightly said. “I forgot what a hardship our separations are for you. How more arduous it has been for you.” He lifted a repentant countenance to Elrohir. “Forgive me, my love.”

Elrohir shook his head. “Not more arduous. ’Tis only different in how we approach our partings and cope with them. You are your father’s heir, his most trusted counsellor and second in command. Your duties have weighed heavily on you as an only child, whereas I have Elladan to share them with and even Arwen.” He hesitated and then voiced his longest held wish. “Mayhap though the time is coming when we shall be at liberty to fulfill our desires rather than our obligations to our lords and lands.”

Though not meant as a question, the way he ended the sentence on an uncertain note made it one. He did not move, barely breathed, as he waited for Legolas’s response. 

Legolas sighed and raised a hand to cup Elrohir’s cheek. Stroking his thumb over the younger twin’s cheekbone, he slowly said, “Father knows my intentions toward you. He is not altogether happy for he hoped I would wed and sire another generation to continue our rule of Mirkwood. But he will not stand in our way, of that I am confident.” He grimaced. “But we have suffered so many losses these past many years. I am loath to needlessly add to our people’s uncertainties amidst all the travails they have already been subjected to.”

A pang of fear and hurt smote Elrohir. “Needlessly?” 

With a sharp shake of his head, Legolas said, “I only mean that I would rather inform them of my choice at a more opportune time. When our kingdom is secure once more and they need not fear further changes in their traditions or beliefs—changes that have been against their will thus far. If that time should come sooner than later, so much the better. I long to claim you as my mate, Elrohir. And I will be more than proud when I do.”

Elrohir’s unease did not completely subside—not when he was still faced with a lack of certitude about his prospects. But it quieted enough that he could smile at Legolas and accept the archer’s explanation with good grace.

Perhaps some of his anxiety still showed through for Legolas slid his arms around him and rolled them over until Elrohir lay upon him. He parted his legs so that Elrohir came to rest between them, their groins meeting in renewed arousal. He raised his head to seal his mouth to Elrohir’s and draw him down into a spate of torrid kisses while reaching below to stroke their shafts together until both gleamed with the first emissions of their seed.

“We may not be wed,” Legolas whispered as he smeared Elrohir’s shaft with the slippery liquid. “But I count myself yours in every way but the saying of the vows.”

He lifted his hips then and slung one leg around Elrohir’s waist, leaving no doubt as to what he offered. With a groan of wanting and not quite assuaged yearning, Elrohir sheathed himself in his lover’s heat and strength, moving with him as one as they scaled the heights to release and the singular joy that came of their bodies’ joining.

* * * *

“If I must pick only one reason to hate Sauron with the force of a thousand suns, it would be being forced to leave Glorfindel again after barely one day together after so long apart!” Elladan grumbled just before he vaulted onto his horse. He glanced down at Elrohir, one elegant eyebrow rising questioningly. “Well, brother? What do you wait for? The sooner we leave, the quicker we shall complete this confounded mission and perhaps return before the Hobbits and Dwarves eat our family out of house and home!”

Elrohir smiled bleakly at him. “Testy, are we? Not that I blame you.” He glanced toward the front porch. “I would just like to say my farewells properly as well, if you don’t mind.”

Elladan flushed slightly and managed a lopsided, apologetic smile. “I am sorry, Elrohir. That was thoughtless of me.” He turned his horse toward the gathered Rangers who waited by the great arched gate of the courtyard. “Take your time. You have certainly earned every minute.” 

Elrohir sighed and turned around just as Legolas came out of the house. As he waited for the archer to cross the courtyard to him, memories from the council just that morning flitted through his mind. 

He and Elladan had not seated themselves flanking Elrond as they usually did. Instead they had stayed out of plain sight, watching the proceedings from a half hidden garden alcove and observing all who attended. With so many unknown folk of different races present, it had become imperative that they serve as Elrond’s eyes and look for signs of dissidence, unbelief or nascent treachery.

They had immediately been wary of Boromir son of Denethor, the current Steward of besieged Gondor. The Man’s eyes betrayed a lack of trust toward the others, even and perhaps especially Aragorn for all that they were both Dúnedain. And he’d regarded the Dwarves and Elves with a combination of suspicion and awe tinged with fear. The Halflings Frodo and Bilbo Baggins received the brunt of his disdain however. It was apparent he thought the little folk just as small in courage. That is until Frodo showed him otherwise and volunteered to bear the Enemy’s most prized weapon where others feared to tread, even Boromir himself.

The Halflings had proved themselves as intriguing and surprising as he’d come to expect from the years of guarding the Shire, their quaint corner of Middle-earth. If there was one thing of import he’d learned about Hobbits, it was to never overestimate their complacency and wariness of the untried and unknown or underestimate their wit and greatness of heart. 

The Dwarves on the other hand should have provided the most dissent given their intermittent rivalries with the Elves but, surprisingly, that had not been the case. Their willingness to participate with civility and intelligence in so potentially contentious a forum gave the lie to the common perception that all Dwarves were avaricious, mule-headed curmudgeons who only looked out for themselves.

As for the Firstborn, well, the twins had concentrated mainly on the Mirkwood Elves. The Lindon emissaries would be of like thinking to Círdan their lord and one of Elrond’s most trusted allies. And Legolas’s mind they knew and through him Thranduil’s as well. But the Wood-elves were new to them. They had not previously accompanied Legolas to Imladris. Possibly this was their first time to leave the bounds of their forest realm. It was very likely they were of a more insular nature than their rulers.

This suspicion was borne out by the way they had looked askance at everyone else, even Mithrandir and Elrond. These were folk who would notice only what would directly affect Mirkwood and ignore everything else. One could imagine what they would report to Thranduil when they returned. The brothers had advised their father to immediately send a full report of the meeting to Thranduil and preempt any false or misrepresented version of it.

As meetings went, the council had been very productive. But the decisions made required that he and Elladan leave hearth and home once more to help scout the lands beyond for any and all possible dangers to Frodo Baggins as he set out on what was virtually an impossible and likely fatal quest. This was to destroy Sauron once and for all by taking the loathsome bauble he’d forged generations ago to use in his bid to force Middle-earth under his dark rule and casting it into the volcanic fire in which it had been made. Right smack in the heart of Sauron’s stronghold. 

Elrohir wondered whether it was great valor and love for the Shire that drove the Hobbit to undertake such a desperate, almost hopeless mission or sheer stupidity.

As soon as Legolas came up to him, he drew Elrohir into his arms and kissed him long and hard. Elrohir considered the irony of his lover seeing him off in much the same manner as he’d welcomed him the day before. 

“That we should meet again on the very brink of calamity,” Legolas acidly remarked. “It makes me wonder what Eru has in store for us.”

“We can only pray the reward at the end will be worth it all,” Elrohir murmured. He took Legolas’s hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Please extend my greetings to your father when you get home.”

Legolas shook his head. “I will not go back just yet. I will wait for you.” He looked at the waiting Rangers. Elrohir followed his gaze. When the prince’s eyes fell on Aragorn, his expression darkened. “And besides I still have to make amends on behalf of my people for our failure to keep that odious creature from escaping.”

Elrohir stared at him. The revelation that Mithrandir and Aragorn had entrusted Gollum to the Wood-elves’ keeping had been one of the few that had taken him by surprise. But that Thranduil and his people thought it a blemish upon their honor to have failed in that endeavor was not surprising for one of the proudest Elven races in Middle-earth. 

“Legolas, Gollum’s escape is not something you or your people should be ashamed of,” Elrohir urgently said. “Verily, you were outnumbered and without warning of any kind. And may Eru have swift mercy on the guards who were taken in that battle.” He huffed with frustration when Legolas’s expression did not change. “Sauron’s reach has lengthened and his allies have increased beyond all our expectations. No one foresaw that assault nor could you have stopped it even if you had known. He is marshaling forces beyond your ability to stave off without help.” He gripped the prince by the shoulders and shook him slightly. “Please, let it go. And think not of vengeance to redeem your honor. There is no dishonor in defeat by a treacherous foe.” 

He took Legolas’s face between his hands and forced the archer to look at him. At length, Legolas seemed to lose the grimness in his features and he managed a small smile.

“I should not send you off all in a pother over my troubles,” he ruefully murmured. “Go, my love. They await you none too patiently.”

Elrohir peered at him anxiously. At length, he thought the archer safely distracted from dark thoughts and deeds. “You will be here when I return?” 

“I will.”

They embraced once more and kissed fervently, for once uncaring if their love lay revealed to all. Elrohir could scarcely take his eyes off Legolas as he mounted his horse and moved to join his brother and Aragorn’s band. As they rode out of the courtyard, he cast a final glance over his shoulder at the archer, committing as he always did when they parted every beauteous feature of his lover to memory. 

And then he turned his eyes to the path before him as he once more ventured out into the wide world beyond.


	46. Friction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When pride once more takes precedence over prudence, a long simmering grievance comes to a head.

**Prompt: Black**

Legolas let loose a low imprecation as he peeked into the armory and still saw no sign of Elrohir. Since receiving word of the brethren’s return to Rivendell, he had looked everywhere in the Last Homely House that the Elf-knight frequented. He had no idea where else to search for him. And it irked him that Elrohir had not come to him after he and Elladan had reported the results of their mission to Lord Elrond. 

The woodland prince grimaced. He had no right to take offense; Elrohir’s reasons for making himself scarce were valid. Indeed, Elladan had not minced words when he’d cornered Legolas earlier. He’d demanded to know what Legolas had been thinking when he volunteered to accompany Frodo Baggins on his dangerously quixotic quest. Or rather he sarcastically remarked that Legolas had _not_ been thinking at all. When Legolas declined to explain matters, Elladan then snapped that Elrohir would likely eschew his lover’s company for the foreseeable future.

That was the reason Legolas was virtually turning the house and its grounds inside out. And still he had not discovered Elrohir’s whereabouts. He exhaled in frustration and exited the armory. Wondering where else to look, he headed back to the main wing. It was as he was walking down the hallway that he looked out a wide window at the slopes of the valley’s enclosing hills, no longer so verdant with the coming of winter. 

Seized by a long ago memory, he hurried to the east porch of the house and, stepping out into the chill air, turned his gaze upward. He soon espied the narrow path that climbed up to the stone ledge that had been the twins’ retreat in their youth.

It was then he saw him—a lone figure standing atop the outcropping of rock that sheltered the ledge. Elrohir did not appear to have seen Legolas for his gaze was directed elsewhere. His raven locks unbound and blown about by the sharp breeze, his inky cloak whipping around him like a dark cloud, and his rangy form clad in black from his woolen tunic to his sturdy boots, Elrohir was a vision to behold albeit a somber one this late afternoon. 

Legolas quickly ascended the hill to the ledge. As soon as he stepped onto the level space and looked up, Elrohir turned his head to meet his gaze. The Elf-knight neither apologized nor issued an invitation to join him atop the rock. Instead, he looked once more into the distance. Legolas followed the direction of his gaze and realized it was the gardens Elrohir had been observing. Or rather what lay in the garden’s embrace.

He saw Aragorn and Arwen standing together under a bower of sturdy vines and hardy blossoms. Their heads close and hands clasped, they were talking to each other, occasionally punctuating their conversation with tender clinging kisses. There was no doubt they were very much in love.

“This will be his final test,” Elrohir murmured. “This will ascertain whether he will win himself Elrond’s daughter or not.”

Legolas frowned and looked up at Elrohir. “Surely you hope he does not pass the test. It will spare you a very grievous loss.”

“On occasion, the thought occurs to each of us,” Elrohir admitted. 

“I would be surprised if it did not.” Legolas shook his head. “I confess I do not understand why anyone would wish to wed a mortal.”

Elrohir’s faint smile was chilling. “Her choice is not so ill.”

“Surely you jest!” Legolas scoffed. “How can you deem the shortness of Men’s lives desirable in the least?”

“If there is love to share, it is not so evil a fate,” Elrohir retorted. “And if there is none, all the better to live for a finite while only.”

Legolas nigh gaped at him incredulously. “Elrohir?”

“At least, _they_ have an end to their misery and despair. We can’t say the same.” Elrohir laid glistening eyes on Legolas. “ _I_ can’t say the same. Not yet.” He took a deep breath. “Or perhaps never.” 

Before Legolas could respond, Elrohir abruptly dropped down from his perch, turned to the path and started to make his way down. Legolas stared after him in dismay for a few heartbeats before rallying his wits enough to follow.

“Elrohir, wait!” 

He imbued his voice with just enough of a commanding tone to compel his lover to pause and glance back over his shoulder. He caught up with Elrohir and grabbed him by the elbow, half glaring at him.

“What are you suggesting?” he asked, his voice hard.

Elrohir shook his head. “’Tis not a suggestion but something I am forced to consider now that you have left me with few options to choose from. That is, options worthy of my time or patience.”

Legolas stared at him. He did not think he had ever heard Elrohir use that tone with him before—cold and bitter and loaded with resentment. 

“You are angry because I opted to join the Company of the Ring,” he ventured.

“Angry?” Elrohir yanked his arm away. “Angry does not begin to describe what I feel, Prince of Mirkwood,” he practically spat, all traces of gallantry and geniality gone. “But given that once again everything and everyone else has come before me in your priorities, why should I expect you to understand? You wish to avenge your people’s honor and redeem your benighted pride? By all means, proceed and the consequences be damned. But do not expect me to wait again for Eru only knows how long before you return— _if_ you return—in the vain hope that you will finally choose me. Because judging from your past choices, I fear, indeed I predict Mordor will freeze over first!” 

He did not give Legolas another chance to detain him. With nary a backward glance and his stiff shoulders and clenched fists revealing the state of his temper, Elrohir strode down the path at a brisk pace. Too shocked by the vitriol the younger twin had vented on him, Legolas did not move from his spot for the longest while. And as he watched Elrohir hasten down the hillside and return to the house, he became aware that his heart was pounding frantically and his mind awash with bleak and mournful visions of the future. 

Legolas realized he had never known such terror before, not even at the height of the fiercest battle he’d ever fought. 

But then, all he'd had to lose might have been his life and, being of the Firstborn, that would not be a permanent state. But if it were Elrohir’s life that were lost should he choose to follow the example of his father’s long-dead brother turned mortal king, there would be no resurrection for either him or Legolas to look forward to. Not within the circles of the world.

If Elrohir chose the Doom of Men, there would be no hope left. For either of them.


	47. Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sacrifices have to be made in any partnership to maintain a healthy balance and strengthen the ties that bind.

**Prompt: Choices**

Elladan anxiously studied his twin where the latter sat upon the balcony balustrade, staring up at the obscured stars. He seemed impervious to the cold but Elladan knew otherwise. He and Elrohir were much stronger and fleeter than mortal men, but they did not have the nigh absolute resistance to the elements of their full-Elven brethren. 

This was apparent in the rosy spots on Elrohir’s cheeks, the slight paleness of his lips, the occasional shiver of his shoulders and the way he tucked his hands inside his tunic ever so often. Yet Elladan knew better than to coax him inside his warm room. Elrohir was in a foul mood and hot temper. The wintry chill would cleanse the first and tame the second.

At length, Elrohir stood and re-entered Elladan’s bedchamber. Glorfindel was in conference with Elrond but even if he returned too soon, the captain would not intrude. The twins could talk without fear of interruption. As soon as Elrohir drew near, Elladan pulled him into a comforting embrace. When his brother burrowed into his arms, Elladan knew he had found some calm. 

“I have never spoken to him thusly,” Elrohir murmured against Elladan’s shoulder. 

“’Twas a long time coming and I am glad you finally spoke your heart,” Elladan said. He stroked Elrohir’s hair as he would a distressed child. “You did right, brother.”

“Did I?”

“Aye, finally. In truth, you should have demanded that he bind himself to you from the very start.”

“There were reasons he could not commit himself irrevocably.”

“I do not mean wedlock necessarily, but a betrothal at the very least.” Elladan gently held his brother from him, peering into his face. “Even a secret one would have done wonders for your peace of mind I wager. Though an official betrothal would be infinitely preferable. It has hurt me these many centuries to watch you endure the indignity of being deemed little more than his paramour. A prized trophy to be held up as proof of the Wood-elves’ prowess! It is not a thing to be borne. Not by a child of Elrond and certainly not by the Mariner’s grandson!” 

“Elladan, do not disparage them for that,” Elrohir chided. “They are imperiled in a way our folk have never been. If I endured all these years, ’tis for that reason. I would not have Legolas erode his people’s pride in their prowess or their belief that they can prevail without help from outside.”

“And taking an Elf who is not of their kingdom is receiving help from outside?” Elladan said with a snort.

“Nay, but it would be construed as discontent with what is offered amongst the populace,” Elrohir corrected. “What would it do to the Wood-elves’ esteem to learn none of them is good enough to mate with their crown prince? Legolas was only doing his duty to king and country. In that he is no different from us.”

“Agreed. But that does not mean you cannot resent being treated thusly. Or that you should keep your misgivings from him.” Elladan shook his head. “I confess it baffled me that you could do so much for him and so little for yourself. All in the name of love.”

Elrohir smiled wanly. “What I have done is nothing when compared to our sister’s sacrifice. Also in the name of love.”

“You would use my words against me,” Elladan said with a scowl. “And speaking of Arwen, tell me you did not mean it when you told him you would go down her path. You would not dare, brother.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“Elrohir!”

Elladan shuddered as immense sadness crept into his brother’s eyes. _Plague take the Wood-elf, I shall hunt him to the ends of Arda and beyond if Elrohir takes that road!_

A knock on the door preempted whatever either twin would have said next. Still scowling, Elladan strode to the door and opened it. It was Legolas. 

Elladan’s first impulse was to berate the prince for hurting Elrohir so. But another longer look at him revealed all was not well with Legolas either. It appeared he had not rested and there was a slackness to his otherwise ramrod-straight back. Most telling of all was the timidity of his gaze as he stared past Elladan to Elrohir. If there was one word Elladan had never associated with Legolas in any form or shape, it was that.

He glanced back at Elrohir and said, “I imagine there is much the two of you have to discuss. You can use my room.” He turned a stern look on Legolas. “And you had best deal gently with my brother. I will not countenance it if you hurt him yet again.”

Legolas did not attempt to deny the accusation or deflect the threat with his usual wry humor. Instead, he merely nodded and stepped aside to give Elladan room to pass. Casting another incredulous glance at his twin, Elladan exited his room. 

Once outside he lingered, tempted to eavesdrop on the pair. A part of him could not bear to leave Elrohir alone to receive whatever news Legolas bore. Judging from the archer’s expression, it could not be good. 

Well, naught had been good since they arrived to discover an Elf would be part of the Company of Nine and the identity of said Elf. He stared at the door, torn between pressing his ear to it and listening in on their conversation or following his conscience and walking away.

“Walk away, brother.”

He looked to his side to find Arwen gazing at him reproachfully. 

“He gave Legolas an ultimatum,” Elladan tersely said. 

Arwen started and then frowned. “That is not Elrohir’s way.”

“’Tis not,” Elladan agreed. “But a weary heart will not be gainsaid.”

“I see.” Arwen glanced at the door. “I cannot fault him then. It has been so long.”

“Too long. I pray he does nothing rash.”

“Our brother or Legolas?”

“I think Legolas has already acted imprudently,” Elladan tartly said. “’Tis what Erohir might do that I fear.”

“What could he do that frightens you?” Arwen’s eyes widened when Elladan turned a dark stare on her. “That is my path, not his,” she whispered. “Oh, Elladan, he would not dare!”

Elladan laughed mirthlessly. “I said the same thing. He challenged my assumption.”

Arwen visibly flinched. “I am sorry,” she murmured.

“For what?” Elladan asked. A moment later, he saw that her eyes were glistening. “Nay! I did not mean to suggest you influenced him in any way, Arwen.” He pulled her close and wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders. “Your choice is yours alone. Elrohir will make his own. We can only hope he thinks long and hard about it, as you did.”

Arwen tried to smile. “’Tis still not right to eavesdrop,” she softly said. “We will learn the outcome of their talk soon enough.”

Elladan sighed. “I know.”

Arm in arm, they walked down the corridor, taking solace in each other’s company.

* * * *

Legolas’s first instinct was to go to Elrohir, haul into his arms and kiss him senseless. But he resisted the instinct. His Elf-knight looked distant and wary and far from conciliatory.

“You frightened me,” he finally said. “I don’t recall ever hearing you speak as you did yesterday.”

Elrohir smiled but without humor. “Elladan thinks I should have done so long ago.” He pursed his lips contemplatively. “There must be martyr’s blood in my veins though as far as I know none of my forebears would have set their pride aside as I so oft have.”

His forthrightness made Legolas wince. At the same time, he knew a surge of admiration and realized he had not seen Elrohir direct such bluntness at him in so long. That indicated how deeply the younger twin cared for him that he had held his tongue and pulled his punches. The prince swallowed, feeling an unwonted sense of unworthiness bear down on him. The pressure of it was as great as from the enormity of the consequences of Elrohir’s suppressed bitterness.

Legolas had not slept or even taken rest in waking dreams since their confrontation. He’d feared waking up to the news that his lover had forsaken his Elven heritage. And so he’d spent the night and almost the whole of this day looking back upon his life and all the duties he had taken upon himself as his father’s heir. 

These he had weighed against the obligations he’d taken on as a lover. And not just any ordinary Elf’s lover. In the end, it had come down not only to what he was willing to sacrifice, but also what he had to sacrifice. 

He had never deemed himself selfish. All his life he had done as was expected of a prince of a beleaguered people. That had changed when he met Elrohir. For the first time, he strayed from the path laid out for him almost from birth. He carried out every duty save for the taking of a mate and the making of heirs. He could not bear taking a mate who was not his beloved or make heirs who would only be born into a loveless union. 

But the need to serve his people—to protect and nurture them and instill an unshakable belief in their collective ability to prevail against all odds—remained strong. And down through the centuries that need had warred with his desire for his one true love. He’d struggled to strike a balance between the two and believed he’d managed it. But now he realized the balance had been tilted precariously all along and he’d given more weight, indeed too much weight, to his duties as a prince. 

All because Elrohir had been so giving; so willing to set aside his needs for the sake of his lover. 

In the end, Legolas had done exactly what he had striven to avoid. He’d taken Elrohir for granted. And now it appeared Elrohir would pay the ultimate price for Legolas’s error. The injustice of it struck him with such bludgeoning force he’d taken to quill and parchment and written to his father. The missive was now on its way to Mirkwood, carried by the Elves who’d accompanied him to Imladris.

He took a deep breath and looked at Elrohir, refusing to let his gaze waver in the face of his lover’s cool mien. 

“Elladan is right,” he said. “You should have expressed your misgivings.”

“And handed you an excuse to break with me?” Elrohir sneered. It was not a look Legolas liked on him. “Given my obsession with you, why would I have taken the risk?”

“Does that still hold true?” Legolas asked.

“Have I ever given you reason to doubt my constancy?” Elrohir snapped.

Legolas sighed. Elrohir was still irate. At this point he would do anything to appease the younger twin. To have him regard him again with warmth and welcome even if it cost him everything he considered part of his life’s work. 

“I wrote my father a letter,” he said. “’Tis on its way to Mirkwood even as we speak.”

Eyebrows raised in apparent puzzlement at the seeming non sequitur, Elrohir asked, “You sent your escort home then?” 

“Aye, they had naught to do here any longer save to spy and ferret out imagined faults and make it harder for me to do my duty.”

Elrohir blinked. “I beg your pardon? I thought they were here to _help_ you do your duty.”

“To my father’s realm. But not to you.” Legolas grimly smiled when Elrohir frowned in confusion. “I renounced my right to the woodland crown. I am no longer Mirkwood’s heir.”

“What!” Elrohir’s eyes widened impossibly. “Why did you—”

Legolas cut him off. “The price of kingship is too great. Even were I to reign over the greatest realm in all Arda, it would not be worth your loss to the Doom of Men.” He bit his lower lip as he considered the explanation for his decision. He said, “I kept hoping the day would come that my people would accept my mate even if I wed outside of our borders. But I can no longer deny it was a vain and foolish hope and one I should have given up long ago. I tried to please them and in doing so displeased you instead and all but drove you away.”

He finally dared to touch Elrohir, taking the Elf-knight’s hands into his and holding them tight. “I will no longer put them before you. I will break with them first rather than lose you. So please reconsider, Elrohir. Do not choose your sister’s path.” He did not try to hide his fear or anguish but met Elrohir’s startled stare fully. “I beg you—choose me instead. Choose _us_.”

Elrohir looked at him long and wonderingly. “Is this a proposal?” 

“A criminally belated one but, aye, it is.” 

“Sweet Eru.” Elrohir blew his breath out. “You wish for us to wed when you return?”

“Nay, before I go,” Legolas replied. “I will not venture forth unbound.”

Elrohir regarded him with patent disbelief. “Even without your father’s permission or presence?”

Legolas managed a faint smile. “All that is needed is _your_ father’s permission and _our_ presence.”

“You really mean it,” Elrohir whispered. “After all this time…” 

He abruptly averted his gaze to look out the balcony doors, his eyes focused unseeingly on the dark beyond.

Legolas wondered at his expression. A spike of fear nigh drove him to his knees. “You have not—” He grabbed the Elf-knight’s arms and shook him in agitation. “Elrohir, do not tell me I am too late!”

Elrohir looked back at him, surprised at his vehemence. He shook his head. “I was only so overcome by the suddenness of your turnaround. Verily, I would not have taken that step so quickly and without due thought. But as for your proposal…” His gaze held something akin to reverence which brought warmth into Legolas’s cheeks. And then he suddenly launched himself at the prince, wrapping his arms around him in the manner of his long ago youth when they first met. “Aye! I will bind to you.”

“You will? I mean, you will!” Legolas hugged him back tightly, an exhalation of relief leaving him in a soft whoosh. “Valar, I thought for a moment that you…” He cupped Elrohir’s face between his hands and kissed him hard and possessively. “Thank you for waiting, beloved,” he murmured against Elrohir’s lips. “For trusting in me. For … for deeming me worthy of you.”

“Fool of a wood-elf, of course you are worthy!” Elrohir fondly said. “From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew there would be no other for me. So you see, I was doomed even then though you did not know it yet.”

“Not doomed,” Legolas corrected. “Fated. We both are.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Since you asked me to take first night rites with you. When you bestowed that honor on me, I knew I had met my destined one. My greatest fear was that I could not claim you forthwith and that you would tire of waiting for me. Eru be praised for your patience, dearest one.”

“Patience?” Elrohir laughed out loud though tears obviously prickled at the corner of his eyes. “I ran out long ago, did you not know? Only my pride kept me from giving up.”

“Just that?”

“And love.” Elrohir allowed his tears to fall. They were joyful ones after all. “There was never any doubt about that.”

“Yet you nearly took a road on which I could not follow you,” Legolas could not help saying a little angrily. “You would have parted us forever!”

“I spoke in despair,” Elrohir admitted. “I thought you would not prevail; that you might fall with the others.” He grimaced. “I still do. There is no surety in what any of us will face from hereon. To wait for you to return from Mandos’s halls should you perish, but without the certainty of wedlock…” 

His eyes turned haunted. “What if you finally returned but changed by your stay within? Your love for me no longer? For what will all my waiting have been then? That would have broken me beyond any mending. The short life of a mortal would have spared me that eternal torment. Can you blame me for considering it, Legolas?”

The prince shook his head and held him more tightly, as if he were trying to fuse their bodies into one. “I have been a coward and caused you much grief.”

“Nay, you are no coward,” Elrohir protested, pulling away slightly to look into Legolas’s eyes. “You are as I, that is all. And I have always known your choices were limited. ’Twas not your decision to join the Company that angered me yesterday, not really, but rather that you did not include me in your deliberations. Partners _share_ , both the good and the bad. I did not feel like your partner then… much less your spouse-to-be.”

Elrohir’s pained expression of renewed incertitude smote Legolas to the quick and he bitterly rued his impulsiveness. He doubted he would have changed his course. The feeling that his inclusion in the Company of Nine was meant to be remained strong and unclouded by uncertainty. But if he truly intended for Elrohir to be his mate, he should have waited for his return and discussed his plan with him first. Elrohir might not have agreed—Legolas was sure he would not—but he would have appreciated being asked for his opinion on the matter.

Lovers did not always have to agree with each other. Indeed, it was impossible to be in full accord at all times. But being able to agree to disagree and still maintain love and rapport despite any differences bespoke equality and respect. In leaving Elrohir out, Legolas had not shown him the respect due a partner.

“Forgive me, beloved,” he whispered. “I am so sorry for treating you less than you deserve. But I swear I did not intend to demean you. And if I could, I would foreswear myself and withdraw from the quest.”

“I know that now,” Elrohir murmured with a tender smile. “And I do not begrudge you the desire to redeem your people’s honor. The dangers you must face frighten me no less, but I will bear through the fear. I only hope that from hereon you will always make me a part of your life’s choices. That is all I ask.”

Legolas nodded. His heart full even as it ached from paining Elrohir in any way, he pulled his lover back into his arms and turned his face into the inky locks that framed the Elf-knight’s comely face. “I am so grateful you held on for so long,” he said, inhaling Elrohir’s scent with delight. “And though it terrified me beyond relief, I am glad of your threat.”

Elrohir snorted. “Your folk would call it extortion.”

“I do not care,” Legolas retorted. “All that matters is it led me to realize I had to make a choice. To act before I lost the greatest treasure of all.” He kissed Elrohir once more with a fierceness that would have hurt had it not been endowed with so much love and passion. Giddy from the brush with loss of his love, Legolas sought to assuage the lingering pangs in the most potent way he knew. 

He drew back and stared hungrily at Elrohir. “I want you now, Elf-knight,” he growled. “Eru almighty, I need you!”

Elrohir chuckled but his cheeks reddened tellingly. “My room then,” he agreed. “Glorfindel would not be pleased to find us rutting on _his_ bed. But first, let us inform my family that you will make an honest Elf of me at last!”


	48. Cleave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopes and prayers are answered at long last in the midst of uncertainty and imminent strife.

**Prompt: White**

Elrohir's binding was as different from his twin's as could be. The rites were perforce held in the shelter of the garden porch with the icy breezes of the winter night swirling about them. Only the residents of the Last Homely House attended their nuptials. By any standard, it should have been a bleak affair. But not when one beheld Elrohir's nigh incandescent countenance or Legolas's fiercely possessive demeanor.

The cold and dark were no match for the warmth and radiance of their happiness and barely contained ardor.

Clad in nuptial raiment as immaculate as the snow and ice beyond the porch, they seemed not of this world. Though no longer innocents in body, they shone with the purity of their spirits and the clarity of their hearts’ desires fulfilled.

Like Elladan before him, Elrohir had donned Elrond’s wedding attire when the Lord of Rivendell took their mother to wife millennia ago. It was styled in the manner of ancient Númenor, but made the Peredhil’s own by the representation of their foresire, blessed Ëarendil, in the star of silver purl and crystal beads upon one shoulder. Its glittering rays sprayed across the tunic’s torso down to the waist.

The same belt of _mithril_ links and square-cut diamonds Elladan had worn then now encircled the younger twin’s waist, symbol of his descent from Elven and mannish royalty. As was the plain silver circlet on his head. His hair he did not bind into a single plait as was his wont, but was held back from his face by two thick braids on either side of his face. These were loosely bound at the back of his head with a silver riband.

When Legolas appeared on the porch and took his place beside Elrohir, the younger twin’s mouth went dry. Had his lover ever looked as beautiful as he did this night?

The archer had not brought suitably formal clothing. So he’d turned to the valley’s master tailors to create nuptial garb for him. They had done him proud, using his silvan garments as the basis for the tunic he now wore. It was made of shot silk, its warp and weft of ivory and palest green. The result was a delicately shimmering tunic that recalled both his princely station and Wood-elven heritage.

In contrast to Elrohir’s, the archer’s tunic was high-necked with tight long sleeves that folded back at the wrists to reveal the embroidered cuffs of the white satin shirt underneath. The front of the tunic was cut on a double bias to expose the shirt hem, likewise adorned with elaborate stitchery.

Legolas wore no jeweled belt, but a silver silk brocade sash with a leaf pattern in gold thread. A woven white gold circlet lay on his brow, the one piece of jewelry he always carried with him on his sojourns to Rivendell. He had not plaited his hair, but left it loose so that it hung down his back in a silken fall of silver and gold

Imagining how that glorious mane would look spilled across a pillow propelled Elrohir’s thoughts in directions other than the solemn rite they were about to observe. He hastily forced his attention back to the business at hand lest his binding to Legolas be invalidated somehow through lack of his full participation.

The ceremony was made more special by the presence of one of the Valar. Mithrandir the Maia in wizardly guise officiated over the rite, his eyes twinkling in pleasure as he led them through their vows. The clear winter skies provided a dramatic backdrop for the radiance of the Mariner’s light as he shone bright in approval of his younger grandson’s binding to a child of the greenwood.

When they shared the first kiss of their espousal, it was incendiary enough to warrant Elrond’s intervention. “I’d rather you do not scandalize the innocents amongst us,” he admonished his son and new law-son with a pointed tilt of his head in the direction of four wide-eyed Hobbits.

Elladan was later heard to grumble, “I do wish Father did not stop you. I was waiting to see who would turn the reddest of all—the Hobbits, the Dwarves or Boromir of Gondor.”

To which Glorfindel said, “I wager ‘twould have been Boromir. He was well on his way to a nice shade of scarlet before he thought to hide his face. No surprise there. ‘Tis oft the doughtiest of men who are unable to watch such tender displays without a blush.”

“That was no tender display, Glorfindel,” Elrond murmured as he passed them by, a chuckling Mithrandir in tow.

The wedding feast that followed bode well to be quiet and simple. But Elrohir and Legolas’s joy appeared to infuse the very air, such that it seemed as splendid a reception as the older twin’s had been centuries ago. Following the example of the newlyweds, the guests cast formality aside and the dining hall resounded with laughter and song and some of the most ribald jests this side of the Misty Mountains.

In keeping with the revelry, the household staff had festooned the hall with garlands of evergreen and holly, verdant wreaths adorned with assorted nuts, winter fruit and pine cones, and swathes of white satin bearing Legolas and Elrohir’s badges in gold and silver thread. The kitchen, on the other hand, turned out the most festive dishes possible on such short notice. Neither Elrohir nor Legolas had expected the sumptuous repast that all but made the damask-covered long tables groan under their weight.

Slow-roasted goose and wine-braised venison, thick slices of cured ham glazed with honey, winter vegetables bathed in butter, and chunks of crusty bread fresh from the ovens to dip in a flavorful pumpkin soup redolent with herbs and rich with cream. And to finish the meal with a luxurious flourish, tray after tray of artfully shaped marzipan confections, delicately spiced sweet custard tarts, little cakes studded with nuts and dried fruit and soaked with cordial, and small cunning pastries stuffed with cream and topped with a delectable icing made from a rare delicacy from the far south. Chocolate, the bakers informed a delighted woodland prince.

“Did you think I’d allow your binding to be celebrated with less than a feast?” Arwen said to her astounded brother. “Mother would never forgive me—in this world or without.”

Overall, Elrohir enjoyed this long-awaited celebration. He deemed it perfect save for one tiny irritant.

“Why the frown?” Legolas asked when he came to his side after a round of raillery with Aragorn and Erestor.

Elrohir slipped a proprietary arm around the archer. “Jealousy, I suppose. Our guest from Gondor,” he said, with a glance in Boromir’s direction. The man sat with the Dwarves, but scarcely took part in their conversation. “He reminds me of Eldacar and his interest in me during my majority celebration. Except 'tis not I that Boromir looks upon with desire.”

Legolas stared at him. “Are you implying he is interested in _me_?”

“I need not imply. He is fairly transparent about it.”

“How so?”

“He has shown no interest in the women of this valley, even the most beauteous ones, but instead gravitates to the warriors. Just as Elladan and I did when we first realized where our true desires lie.”

“Well, unfortunately for him, I am now a happily wed Elf,” Legolas quipped. He pressed closer to Elrohir. “He will have to turn his eyes elsewhere.”

Elrohir smiled. “And I am glad he witnessed our vows. He is a man of honor and will not attempt to play the interloper even when you are far from me and our bed.”

Legolas stared at him. “Valar, are you doubting my fidelity at this late date?”

“Nay, I trust you utterly.”

“Then why this lingering uncertainty?”

Elrohir sighed, then shook his head. “’Tis only that I waited so long. The fear that you might turn away with the passing of the years was never far from me.”

Legolas cupped his face in his hands and compelled him to meet his gaze. “You feared needlessly,” he murmured. “One does not willingly set aside a prize long desired and hard won.”

“I like the sound of that,” Elrohir said with a small smile. “A prize.”

“And a greater one than any other I've known in all my long years,” Legolas told him. He lowered his hands to take Elrohir’s and pulled him toward the door. “Come, my Elf-knight. Let us lay your uncertainties to rest. Claim me as is your right, beloved. I would have all know who owns me. Who has always owned me—heart, body and soul.”

Elrohir barely heard his brother’s wolf whistles or the others’ lubricious asides as he followed the archer out of the hall. All that truly registered was Legolas’s desire for them to warm their conjugal bed.

 _Eru almighty!_ For the first time in nigh three thousand years, they would make love as a wedded couple. He could finally and proudly come out of the shadows and call Legolas his.

* * * *

Almost as soon as they entered their bedchamber, they started to strip each other with all haste though carefully enough to keep their clothes intact. Elrohir’s finery was a family heirloom, while Legolas cherished the raiment in which he’d bound himself to the Elf-knight at last. When they were both bare, they wasted no time tumbling themselves into the wide bed and making memories to sustain them during the parting to come.

They knew each other’s bodies so very well. In no time at all, they were straining against each other in a hard, fast rut, the need to relieve the exquisite ache down yonder overcoming the desire to prolong this first coupling of their wedding night. They spent themselves one after the other, laughing softly at the swiftness of their releases.

“I have not been so quick about it since my benighted youth,” Legolas remarked.

“Nor I,” Elrohir agreed. “Strange… We coupled just months ago, but it seemed more like an age. Mayhap ’twas the incertitude of it all.”

Legolas frowned. He rolled on his back and pulled Elrohir atop of him, kissing him fiercely until they were panting for breath.

“I made you wait for so long,” he murmured against the Elf-knight’s lips. “Forgive me.”

Elrohir hushed him with another kiss. “I told you, ’twas worth it,” he murmured in between the seal of their lips. “You were always worth it.”

They ran their hands over each other’s bodies, signaling the start of another round of lovemaking. They grinned at the profusion of scarlet bruises that marked them both from neck to thigh, evidence of their over passionate foreplay. Elrohir’s grin widened and he urged Legolas to turn on his belly.

The prince looked at him suspiciously, but obeyed nonetheless. Elrohir pushed Legolas’s shining hair aside and regarded his mate’s as yet immaculate back. The desire to leave his mark on that swath of creamy skin grew stronger.

He leaned down and sucked on Legolas’s nape and the sides of his neck until the rosy bruises joined with the pale crimson smears on the archer’s shoulders. Liking the way Legolas groaned and squirmed, he proceeded to lick his way from the small of Legolas’s back down to the cleft in his backside. Grinning in anticipation, he parted his mate’s buttocks and dipped his tongue where normally he would use his fingers.

Legolas gasped and looked at him over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Tasting every bit of you that I can,” Elrohir cheekily replied.

Further stabs of his tongue rendered Legolas speechless for a goodly while. When he managed to speak, he half stuttered, “And just where did you learn to do _that_?”

Elrohir laughed. “Rest you, no one taught me by example. But I do listen when others talk about their exploits.”

He resumed his delicate plundering and thereby reduced Legolas to inarticulate utterances. Elrohir was more than pleased he’d overheard the conversation about this particular manner of pleasuring. To hear Legolas thus incoherent was just as arousing as getting so intimate a taste of so beauteous an Elf. He hungrily pressed his tongue deeper.

“Did you just beg me to bugger you hard?” he teased when Legolas let loose an imprecation-filled plea.

“Plague take you, Elf-knight! Just get on with it!”

“I aim to please.”

Elrohir knew when to bide his time and when to move with speed. He did so now, smearing his emerging seed along the length of his shaft. He did not bother to ready Legolas further for breaching given the urgent way the prince was pushing back against him.

Gripping Legolas’s hips, he entered his mate in one smooth thrust and slid in all the way until his groin was flush against the archer’s firm buttocks. Legolas let out a low, wanton moan that nearly undid him.

It was seldom his woodland spouse let himself be so open when he was at his most vulnerable. In the course of their lengthy affair, Legolas had allowed Elrohir glimpses of that side of him, but he’d always kept control of those instances. Now, Elrohir sensed there was no concealment of anything from him. He was offering all that he was to his mate, both his strengths and his weaknesses.

The love Elrohir had borne his prince these many centuries grew impossibly greater even as he plunged deeper into his body. He draped himself over Legolas’s back and slipped one arm under him to pull him closer. The other hand he lowered to the archer’s shaft to wrap his fingers around the smooth column. He stroked his mate in tandem with each thrust, relishing the feel of that hard flesh against his palm.

Legolas reached back to grip Elrohir’s hip and tugged at him in tacit demand to be taken harder. But his thoughts were not as silent. Elrohir groaned as his prince’s voiceless commands brushed his mind.

_Have me, Elrohir nín. Claim me, mark me. Make me yours!_

With such thoughts further enflaming him, Elrohir forsook his steady rhythm and gave in to his body’s desire to buck and breach and bury his shaft as deeply as it could go. The frenzied pace was obviously what Legolas wanted for he pushed back with abandon, nigh frantically impaling himself to the brim.

Thanks to their initial spending, they did not come to completion as quickly as would have been the case otherwise. But neither could either last as long as when they coupled with more restraint and less speed. Once more, they started the climb to the highest peaks of pleasure, their gasps and grunts and the occasional moaned profession of love and desire resonating in the chamber.

The rapture of their spirits’ joining took them by surprise. For so long had they known the unprecedented bond between them—their spirits connected somehow despite the lack of the Valar’s ritual blessings—that a further heightening of that otherworldly ecstasy had not occurred to them.

Elrohir could not hold back his cries of pleasure, though he tried to muffle them against the side of Legolas’s neck. The archer, on the other hand, had buried his face in the pillow he clutched, but the Elf-knight clearly heard his harsh sobs as Legolas spent copiously into Elrohir’s hand and onto the sheets beneath them. Elrohir shuddered as his own orgasm seemed to go on forever and he spilled himself almost endlessly inside his prince.

Drained as he’d never been before, Elrohir still had the wits to withdraw from Legolas and gently roll them on their sides lest he settle his enervated frame atop the archer. He pulled Legolas into the curve of his body and with a gratified sigh, nuzzled the archer’s hair.

Legolas softly chuckled and turned his head to meet Elrohir in a sweet kiss. “That was amazing,” he murmured. “Did you expect it?”

“Nay,” Elrohir whispered. “I’ve never known such ... such completeness before.”

“Nor have I.” Legolas turned over to face him. “I would know more of it before this night is over.”

Elrohir’s eyebrows rose questioningly. “Really? Are you up for more so soon, Wood-elf?”

Legolas grinned. “Give me but a few minutes rest and, yea, I will be.” He lifted a hand and ran his knuckles down Elrohir’s cheek. “How can I not be when I know what pleasure there is to be had when I’m buried deep inside you?” He lowered his hand to Elrohir’s bottom as he spoke. “After all these years, I still yearn to sheathe myself in you, Elrohir.” His voice dropped to a husky drawl. “To know you mine and mine alone.”

He pushed Elrohir back, slipping between his legs as he shifted atop him. He made a show of slicking his fingers with his re-emergent seed, proudly proving his renewed arousal. With a wicked smirk, he prepared Elrohir for his taking.

“Still as beautiful as the night,” he murmured. “Did I ever tell you? Long ago, I corrected my father when he thought I deemed you a prized trophy.”

“You never told me that,” Elrohir said, groaning as he bore the repeated press of Legolas’s fingers into him. “What did you say?”

“The truth.” Legolas removed his fingers and slid his shaft between Elrohir’s buttocks. “That you were no mere trophy, but a priceless treasure.”

He entered Elrohir in one, steady stroke, stifling the latter’s gasps with his mouth upon the younger twin’s. When Elrohir quieted, Legolas slowly released his lips. He started to thrust into him, not with the Elf-knight’s earlier abandon, but with long, lingering strokes to ensure a pleasurably protracted third round.

Elrohir gazed at him, wondering if it was possible to love the prince even more deeply. “Even then?” he softly asked.

“Even then,” Legolas affirmed. “And now, forevermore.”

He set to claiming Elrohir all over again as he had all those long years ago. Elrohir yielded himself to his prince’s loving, his one great desire finally fulfilled.

Whatever the future held for them, they would face it not as mere lovers, but as mates espoused in heart, body and spirit for all the ages of the world and beyond.

****************************  
Glossary:  
Elrohir nín - my Elf-knight


	49. Brink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the dark encroaches on Middle-earth, an unexpected message threatens to pull Elrond’s family apart.

**Prompt: Family**

_Aragorn has need of his kindred. Let the Dúnedain ride to him in Rohan!_ (0)

The message came with the rising sun, borne by a falcon they recognized. If not for that, they would have suspected its provenance and perhaps hesitated to act on it. Which might have proved fatal. One did not take a call for help from the Lady of the Golden Woods lightly.

The Company of the Ring had passed through Lothlórien and Galadriel apparently discerned something that had spurred her to summon Aragorn’s kin.

They had gathered in Elrond’s study where the Elvenlord had read the message to them. Now Elrohir leaned against the edge of Elrond’s heavy desk while across the room his brother discussed the matter with his spouse. 

Glorfindel would be leaving the following day for Mirkwood with a sizable contingent of Rivendell warriors. Strife threatened the Woodland Realm and Thranduil had not turned down Elrond’s offer of military assistance. Elrohir wondered if the Elvenking’s acceptance of that help was also acknowledgement of the recompense it partly represented. For the loss of his son and commander of his forces. 

By now, Thranduil would have learned of Legolas’s inclusion in the Company of the Ring.

Elladan had planned to accompany Glorfindel to Mirkwood and Elrohir had considered going as well. After all, Thranduil was now his law-father though the king did not know it just yet.

But with the arrival of Galadriel’s missive, all their plans changed. Elrond had at once sent out scouts to search for any Rangers near enough to heed the call. And Elrohir realized he had good reason to change his course.

When Elladan and Glorfindel’s conversation ceased, he stood up and announced, “I will go with them.” 

Arwen turned a disbelieving stare on him. Rising from the couch, she hastened to the younger twin, her usually serene countenance marred by the deep furrow between her brows and the uncharacteristic grimace on her lips. She laid a trembling hand on his arm.

“Why?” she asked, fear sharpening her voice. “Grandmother only asked for Estel’s folk. Elrohir, you have already eluded death so many times in the course of your questing! Why imperil yourself anew at this last?”

Elrohir regarded her compassionately. He understood her fear.

She had already lost their mother for with her choice, there was no hope of seeing Celebrían again in this lifetime. She had then watched her lover walk into the darkness toward an uncertain fate, her hopes of making Aragorn her husband constantly battered by the possibility that he might fall before he came to his inheritance. The possibility of the twins seeing battle in Mirkwood had also frightened her terribly but at least she was assured of the woodland Elves’ mettle and had measure of their foes and knew them lacking in comparison to her kin. 

But of this journey to the south in the wake of the Company of the Ring, she had no true knowledge and therefore no certainty that her brothers would prevail.

“Legolas is there,” Elrohir pointed out. “How can I not go to his aid?” 

He took her hands into his and squeezed them. “There is no surety of safety even here in Imladris, sister,” he quietly said. “War will come here should Frodo fail in his mission and Sauron will fall upon us with ever greater malice. Think you any of us shall survive then? Best to engage the enemy while he still proceeds cautiously and keep him from ever regaining that thing he needs to regain his full strength.” 

“Elrohir is right,” Elladan agreed, joining them. “I too will ride to Rohan.”

“Nay!” Arwen cried. She turned as Glorfindel came up beside her. “Glorfindel, you cannot desire this!” she appealed to the captain. “Please, _gwador_ , you must reason with them.”

Glorfindel shook his golden head. “I do not desire this,” he admitted. “But neither can I deny the truth of their words.” He laid a sad but resolute gaze on Elladan. “War will come to us sooner or late if we do not do all we can to block Sauron from achieving his ends. If that entails risking all that we love and cherish, even life itself, so be it. The fate of Middle-earth is worth the sacrifice.”

“Indeed it is,” Elrond softly said from where he stood by the window looking out at the frost-laden gardens. “Else we all would not have borne so much for these lands’ sake.” 

He let his somber gaze touch each member of his family. He returned it to Arwen and said, “Should your brothers and Glorfindel fall in battle, there will still be the hope of seeing them again in Elvenhome. We cannot say the same of you even should you pass from this life in peace with your children’s children gathered around you. Wherefore your plea to them not to do their duty?”

Arwen stared at him, stunned and stricken. A moment later, she flew into his arms and sobbingly said, “I am so sorry, _Ada_! I never meant to hurt you so!”

“I know, dearest one,” Elrond murmured soothingly. “You followed your heart as Elros did long ago. I do not hold that against you and never will. But neither can you keep your brothers from following theirs nor can you pretend that every desire of the heart has to do with love for one other alone.”

Elrond looked at his sons and law-son, his eyes bright with sorrow, but also pride and delight. 

“Though we will all depart these shores one way or another, we will always love Middle-earth. Our first home, though not our last.” 

Releasing Arwen, he beckoned to the twins and they approached him. He placed his hands on the brethren’s shoulders. 

“Go, my sons. May the Powers light your way and our love be with you always.”

****************************

Glossary:  
gwador – ‘brother’ though a more precise translation would be ‘kinsman’  
Ada - Papa

(0) Passage quoted from LoTR: Return of the King, Book 5, Chapter 2: The Passing of the Grey Company.


	50. Homesick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas struggles with uncertainty and low spirits in the Riddermark.

**Prompt: Colourless**

The thunderous pounding of many hooves shattered the uneasy silence as the company of twenty-two Rohirrim, one Ranger of the North, an Elf, a Dwarf and one Hobbit traveled the empty plains back to Helm’s Deep wherein they would rest at the Hornburg before returning to the Riddermark’s capital of Edoras. They were newly come from Isengard where Théoden King of Rohan and Gandalf the White had confronted the rogue wizard Saruman in his lair. That encounter had been most unpleasant but for the saving grace of reunion with the intrepid Halfling cousins Merry and Pippin. And even that was short-lived.

Now Gandalf had taken off once more with Pippin in tow, gone to Gondor to warn its citizens of imminent invasion. 

Théoden’s banner fluttered in the dim light of a failing night, barely discernible to any who looked at it save for Legolas of Mirkwood with his keen sight. He wondered how much distance Gandalf and Pippin would cover this night. Would they reach Gondor in time? Would the people of the once great kingdom listen? Would Denethor?

What Legolas knew of the latest Ruling Steward of Gondor he'd gleaned from his companions—Aragorn, Gandalf and of course Boromir. Nothing they’d said cast Denethor in a good light as far as he was concerned. Over proud and reluctant to heed counsel other than his own. That was hardly promising.

“Legolas, have a care lest you lose your passenger,” Aragorn softly called out.

The Elven prince glanced over his shoulder and discovered that Gimli had nodded off. Hiding a grin, he nodded at Aragorn and reaching behind him, hauled Gimli forward so that the Dwarf slumped slightly against him and he could support the latter better. He would not wake the Dwarf and tease him into high dudgeon. Let Gimli have his rest. There would be little to be had in the coming days and while Dwarves were hardier than even the doughtiest of Men, they could not match the Elves for wakeful endurance and needed sleep now and then. 

He looked about him in one swift assay and sighed. The end of winter and onset of spring should have brought to light the first glimpses of Rohan's beauty. But nay, the land remained shrouded with a bleakness that was as oppressive as the ever-looming threat of all out war. Thoughts of Mordor and what that wretched land forebade were never far away.

Legolas longed for some splash of vibrancy or glint of freshness. Anything to offset the pervading bitter tang of a battle won at too great cost. Aye, the Rohirrim had defeated Saruman's army of orcs but there was little to celebrate. Not when all knew it had been but a taste of worse to come

It seemed an eon ago when the Company broke apart at Amon Hen. Frodo and Sam gone missing. Setting out on their own was their best guess. And Boromir dying a hero in defense of Merry and Pippin. Which did naught to undo the damage his folly had wrought. The two younger Hobbits had still fallen into the hands of the orcs and suffered grievously while in captivity. It was a wonder they'd come away from the experience relatively unscathed in spirit though considerably tempered in exuberance.

It felt even longer since they left the sheltering eaves of Lothlórien and headed for their rendezvous with fate at the Hill of the Eye. Legolas abruptly felt a sharp yearning for the Golden Wood and the sense of timelessness within its bounds. He missed the sheer elvishness of it all now that he was deep in the lands of Men and perforce in company with the mortal race many said would inherit Middle Earth once the last of the Elves withdrew from the world. Legolas sometimes wondered how many of his father's people would do so by passing over sea or retreating into the darkest deeps of Mirkwood. But that was neither here nor there.

He yearned for the company of his folk. For the green scent of his forest home. But most of all for the warm strong arms of his valiant spouse.

In the depths of slumber or amidst his waking dreams, every so often his soul would cry out in terrible longing. Elrohir! And then his heart would ache with excruciating need such that he daily fought against the urge to weep.

These rough and rugged Men of the Mark would not understand such pining for a lover who shared one's own form. They were not yet a mature race with all the ancient lore and learning of Aragorn's people, the Dúnedain.

He glanced upward. At least the skies were clear, the moon defiantly lighting their way. But even Ithil’s silvery glow could not banish the drabness before him. In his desolation, Legolas saw only mournful black and dreary grey. Even the occasional spots of color appeared faded and lackluster to him.

He saw Aragorn shift in his saddle to better secure his hold of a drowsing Merry. The Halfling's face was slack with sleep. Hopefully his dreams would not be plagued with the horrors he'd thus far seen. Legolas felt a stab of pity for him. Merry had been stricken when Gandalf took his cousin with him to far off Gondor. Yet he'd soldiered on, insisting on being of use in whatever way. Pity gave way to admiration. They were a resilient folk, these Hobbits. And surprisingly brave in the most trying of situations.

The feeling of desolation grew as the company passed the burial mounds nigh to the Fords of Isen. Hardly had they crossed the fords when one of the riders at the rear of the company hastened to Théoden and his nephew Éomer. Gimli came awake at once while Merry sleepily stirred in Aragorn’s arms and blinked owlishly at the Rider as he spoke to the king.

“My Lord, there are horsemen behind us. As we crossed the fords I thought I heard them. Now we are sure. They are overtaking us, riding hard.”(1)

Théoden ordered his men to halt and turn to face the approaching horsemen, weapons at the ready should they be foes. Aragorn dismounted, setting a suddenly wide-awake Merry on the ground beside him. Legolas stroked the side of Arod's neck, imparting affection and encouragement to this horse of the Mark that had served him so loyally and well. Behind him, Gimli hefted his axe, a low rumble in his throat indicating his readiness to fight.

The newcomers came into view, an indistinct mass in the dark. They were armed, that much could be ascertained, for the moon’s light reflected on the tips of their spears. At length, Éomer hailed them warningly.

“Halt! Halt! Who rides in Rohan?”(2)

The strangers came to a sudden halt. One of them dismounted and approached the company warily.

“Rohan? Rohan did you say?” the man said. “That is a glad word. We seek that land in haste from afar.”(3)

Éomer confirmed that they were indeed in Rohan and then demanded the man’s identity and his companions’ intentions, as well as reminded him that they entered the Mark only on Théoden’s sufferance. Whereupon the man responded with patent relief.

“Halbarad Dúnadan, Ranger of the North I am! We seek one Aragorn son of Arathorn, and we heard that he was in Rohan.”(4)

Legolas vaguely registered Aragorn’s elated reaction and warm welcome of his kinsman. Indeed he hardly heard their conversation for a feeling long missed and dearly sought almost overcame him. 

“This is all of our kindred that could be gathered in haste,” Halbarad was saying. “But the brethren Elladan and Elrohir have ridden with us, desiring to go to the war.”(5)

But Legolas was already searching the ranks of the Dúnedain, his spirit calling out in need. 

_Beloved!_

_I am here!_

Legolas drew in a sharp breath as he caught sight of two pairs of gleaming grey eyes in ageless faces framed by raven hair. Elladan lifted a hand in greeting to Aragorn, but Elrohir kept his gaze on Legolas, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

The prince barely kept from leaping off Arod’s back and throwing himself at Elrohir. But the promise in Elrohir’s eyes of love and lust expressed helped Legolas rein in the impulse. He joyfully smiled back at his mate, letting his gaze communicate his pent up yearning.

“Good fortune rides with you, Legolas,” Gimli remarked behind him. “In the midst of doom and gloom, something comes up to lighten your heart. Or rather someone."

Legolas grinned at him over his shoulder. "Why Gimli, I did not think you cared enough to notice."

Gimli promptly huffed and said, "I think I like you better when you're glum and silent!"

With a soft laugh, Legolas urged Arod forward as the company forged ahead once more.

The land remained drab and grey, the stillness ominous, the silence oppressive. But as he glanced at Elrohir now and again, Legolas no longer noticed or cared.

With the advent of his heart's mate, warmth and beauty had returned to the world.

*********************************************************************************************

(1-5) Passages quoted from LotR: Return of the King, Book 5, Chapter 2: The Passing of Grey Company.


	51. Affirmation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas and Elrohir’s marriage bond demands replenishment even in the midst of war.

**Prompt: Touch**

Legolas listened to the faint creak of the oars and the slosh of water against the side of the ship. The wind had not yet strengthened enough to propel the fleet down Anduin to Minas Tirith. He wondered if they would reach the besieged city on time. Sauron’s hordes had finally descended on the City of the Kings. He was intent on wiping this last bastion of the Men of the West from the face of Middle-earth.

The faint throb in his backside and wetness between his thighs lured him back from his musings and he turned his head to regard his mate with longing not fully quenched. Since Elrohir and Elladan arrived in Rohan with thirty of Aragorn’s folk, there had not been time or space for privacy, much less intimacy. Legolas had thought the Elf-knight’s presence would soothe the yearning and frustration he’d endured in the months since his departure from Imladris. But alas, assuagement had perforce been delayed as the preparations for war took precedence.

They had captured the corsairs' fleet at Pelargir and sailed down the great river toward Gondor’s capital. But the wind had died down, slowing their progress and forcing them to break out the oars. Watching Aragorn pace the deck in worry and impatience, Legolas decided there were better ways to pass the time than follow the Ranger’s example. He’d earlier explored the ship’s hold and crew quarters. The first mate’s cabin was quite comfortable not to mention on the other side of the deck away from most of the action.

It had not been difficult to convince Elrohir of the wisdom of his plan. One after the other, they left the deck with only Elladan the wiser and rendezvoused in the cabin.

There had been little in the way of play. Not with Legolas so desperate for union with his mate that he’d tossed all prudence to the four winds and demanded that Elrohir pound him into the bunk forthwith. Their coupling had been swift but fierce. Elrohir had not held back but plowed into him as relentlessly as storm-tossed waves battered the coast of Middle-earth.

He cheerfully paid for such forceful usage. Eagerly even. Thinking about how a few months apart had been nigh unbearable, he now wondered how he’d endured centuries away from his Elf-knight in all the years of their liaison. If they came out of this war alive— _when_ they came out of it—he would never again let Elrohir out of his sight for long.

The cries of gulls came through the walls of the cabin. Legolas frowned as the sounds prodded at the ache in his breast. It awakened when he first heard the sea birds in Pelargir. They called him to a place beyond the reach of the mortal races that made Middle-earth their home. But if he heeded the call, he would call another land home. A land of kin as strange to him as the folk he’d met in the course of the Fellowship’s journey south.

“If you sail, I will go with you,” Elrohir murmured.

Legolas gazed at his spouse. The bond between them had strengthened even further so much so that there were times they knew what the other was thinking even without making the effort to probe for those thoughts.

“What if I resist past the time of Lord Elrond’s departure?” he asked. “Will you leave with him and await me in Valinor?”

“You would not like that,” Elrohir said with a small smile. “And neither would I. After all this time, I am done with being apart from you. I am done with waiting.”

“As am I. But can you stay on with me?’

“Now that we are wed, aye. You will stand in my father’s stead and ensure me a place on the straight road when the time comes.”

Legolas smiled in relief. “That gladdens me. I confess I worried what the Peredhil’s choice portended for us.” He ran his knuckles down Elrohir’s cheek, admiring the sculpted lines of his face. “I missed you so though but mere months have passed. Almost as much as when we were parted for years. It seems the marriage bond intensified our yearning for each other.”

“It is the way of our kind,” Elrohir said. “The means by which an eternal espousal can be sustained.” An impish grin reminiscent of his early youth curved his mouth. “Father once mentioned that the wedding of the elven spirit also unleashes a nigh insatiable need for bodily union. Abatement only means the reduction of couplings to several times weekly if not daily.”

“Daily?” Legolas shook his head. “Small wonder I was famished for your touch.” A grin to mirror Elrohir’s lit his face. “And since this hunger is but natural after all, we ought to make up for our deprivation while we can.”

He moved atop Elrohir, kissing him thoroughly and coaxing the Elf-knight’s legs apart. Elrohir returned the kiss with equal ardor, clutching Legolas to him in blatant need. They rutted against each other with abandon, enjoying the frictional slide of their shafts, while their mouths engaged in a spate of hot-tongued duels.

Elrohir suddenly broke their kiss and lifted one leg to curl behind Legolas’s thighs. “Have me,” he whispered with nigh frantic urgency. “Own me!”

Legolas thought he would spend just from hearing Elrohir’s plea. He managed to hold back enough to gather their nascent seed and smear it on his shaft. As Elrohir had speared him earlier with haste, so now did he enter his mate with little preamble. They groaned in pleased concert, happy to fulfill their need to join their bodies in the most intimate fashion possible. Legolas repeatedly thrust into Elrohir, sinking into his beloved as deeply as he could.

It felt like the first time he bedded Elrohir. The same potent brew of awe, desire and victory overtook him as they affirmed their ownership of each other all over again. The bunk creaked noisily under their bodies as they surged and rocked against each other. Legolas fleetingly wondered if it would withstand another coupling then decided the floor would do just as well if the bed did not survive their exertions.

When completion came, it took all his wits to seal their mouths together and stifle their feverish cries. He shuddered deliciously as he spilled his seed into his mate. Liquid warmth dappled his belly as Elrohir spent between them in turn. He lowered himself upon the Elf-knight and waited for his trembling to cease, uncaring of the milky smears on their abdomens. Even then, he delayed withdrawing from Elrohir, still relishing the snug soft warmth wrapped around his shaft.

When they parted their bodies, it was to wipe their bellies and backsides with the bed sheet. They rested briefly while their lust was still in abeyance. But the latter did not last very long and being Elves they were soon ready to couple their bodies once more. Thankfully, the bunk proved sturdy enough to bear the brunt of another lively bout of lovemaking.

They were still catching their breaths when shouts from the deck informed them that the wind had picked up anew. Soon the increased speed of the ship as it plowed through Anduin’s cold waters grew palpable. Legolas and Elrohir gazed long at each other and then rose from the bunk and drew on their clothing.

Just before they left the cabin, the lovers shared one last kiss. And then they joined the others on deck.


	52. Prospects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Middle-earth emerges from under the shadow.

**Prompt: Light**

The signs of death’s passage were everywhere. The Pelennor appeared a ghastly patchwork of churned earth, ruined homesteads, trodden grass stained with ichor and charred hollows where the dead had been burned lest corpse-spawned diseases ravaged the city further. Weeping and wailing could be heard whilst one walked down the streets as Minas Tirith mourned her dead. And the air reeked of blood and rot and foul smoke alongside the sour stink of stale sweat and unwashed flesh as men labored to clear the sprawling, once verdant field of the detritus of battle.

Yet for the brethren Elladan and Elrohir, though they stood amidst carnage and destruction, none of these could dampen their spirits. Or snatch away their joy. 

Sauron was overthrown. Middle-earth was free of the shadow 

Granted, the final push against the Enemy had been costly. The number of widows and orphans had increased drastically in the wake of the fight before the walls of Mordor. They had been so outnumbered it was a miracle any had lived to tell their tale, let alone the surprising number of soldiers who had survived and returned to their homes and families. 

It had been a last-ditch gambit to draw Sauron’s attention away from the two Hobbits who doggedly trudged their way into the very heart of that black kingdom. A desperate sacrifice that at the last had been worth every drop of blood shed and every moment of torment suffered. Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee had achieved the near impossible and cast the One Ring into the fires where it was forged an age ago.

The Free Peoples of Middle-earth had triumphed against all odds—Mirkwood, Erebor and Lothlorien’s valiant folk in the north and in the south, the Men of the West and the doughty horse lords of Rohan.

Neither Elladan nor Elrohir could foresee what tomorrow held for the land of their births. While the veil concealing the future would occasionally part to allow them a glimpse of what was to be, there was no absolute certitude of it. Only Eru almighty knew what lay in store for every one of his children. 

It did not matter. The ever-looming darkness was vanquished and imminent ruin and despair banished. True, ruin and despair could never truly be eliminated. But now Middle-earth’s folk need not live in constant fear that their very lives could be snuffed out on the say-so of a soulless despot.

Elladan sighed and motioned to his brother to follow him back to the city. 

“Estel’s account of our victory will have reached Imladris by now,’ he said. “The goshawk bearing his letter is strong and fleet. Father will doubtless set out as soon as possible.”

“With Arwen,” Elrohir softly added.

“With Arwen,” Elladan echoed, his tone resigned. He shook his head. “I am happy for them.”

“As am I. But we will lose yet another loved one and that merits some grief on our part. Thank Eru we shall see our dear mother again.”

“Bearing news of our sister’s choice. I do not think I am strong enough.”

“It will fall to Father. Such wretched duties always have.” Elrohir looked up at the clear skies, now unobscured by the unnatural darkness of Mordor’s sickly vapors. “How strange that ’tis our sister’s chosen path which now dims some of the brightness of victory.”

“Not so strange. Your family will be rent until the end of time.”

Elrohir smiled as Legolas came through the ruined gate to meet them, Gimli at his side. He would never fail to marvel each time he beheld his mate’s incandescent beauty and masculine grace. He would always hearken to Legolas’ strength and courage and, yea, even his pride. His stubborn, sometimes exasperating pride. But that was as much a part of what drew him to Legolas as all his other considerable virtues. Would he have fallen as hard and deeply in love with the forest prince otherwise? Elrohir doubted it.

Legolas drew him into the circle of his arms and kissed him lingeringly. The Wood-elf no longer hid what they shared. He simply ignored the startled stares and occasional glares of disgust or suspicion that greeted any open display of affection between them. He had come a long way from the secretive Elf whose main desire was to do his duty to king and country. 

Elrohir smiled into the kiss, the sting of disapproval by the ignorant many or bigoted few soothed by his mate’s unrestrained loving.

He noticed Gimli eyeing a scowling noble with such malevolence that the man paled and scurried off. Legolas’ mouth curve into a grin that indicated he was delighted with his good friend’s defense of their embrace.

“When think you will they arrive?” Legolas asked at length, one hand firmly on Elrohir’s hip.

“Not later than Mid-year’s Day,” Elladan replied. “They will travel swiftly and even if they sojourn in the Golden Wood, that will not delay them much.”

Gimli perked up. “The Golden Wood? And will the Lord and Lady come here as well?”

“Most assuredly,” Elrohir replied. “They would not miss Estel and Arwen’s wedding for all the _mithril_ in Khazad-dûm.”

Gimli beamed with pleasure upon hearing the Dwarvish name of his people’s greatest stronghold uttered by an Elf. “That is good to know. Minas Tirith will be twice blessed when the Lady and your sister arrive.” He glanced up and squinted. “Is it just me or is it overly warm and bright today?”

“Nay, it is only that the sun now shines freely upon us,” Legolas said. “Sauron’s murk is no more.”

The city bells began to chime the midday hour. Gimli patted his belly and announced, “I am for the dining hall. Best to get my fill before those dratted Hobbits show up for their third breakfast or second nuncheon.” 

“Or first lunch,” Legolas added jovially.

With a grunt of agreement, Gimli strode back into the city at a brisk pace. The Elves chuckled, not the least surprised by his haste. The Halflings’ collective appetite and consumption of food easily rivaled that of the Dwarves. It was a wonder they had not yet eaten Aragorn out of house and home considering the post-war rationing Gondor was currently subject to.

The twins made to follow him but Legolas caught Elrohir’s hand and held him back. Elrohir motioned to Elladan to go on before turning a questioning gaze on his mate.

“Is something wrong?”

“Nay. That is, not unless you deem what I have to say an evil.”

Elrohir raised his eyebrows in some puzzlement but he only nodded to Legolas to continue.

“Would you be angry with me were I to travel about with Gimli when we leave for home?” Legolas asked with uncharacteristic nervousness. 

“Travel about? Where—”

“Fangorn first and then perhaps farther east. Gimli challenged me to visit the Glittering Caves with him when we journey to Rohan. In return, he must explore Fangorn with me. I would dearly like to see his face when he wanders amongst the trees and especially when we encounter the Ents again.”

Elrohir sensed the anxiety coming off Legolas. His mate was actually worried that he might have displeased him.

“How long will you be gone?” he asked.

“A year at most.” Elrohir’s expression must have changed because Legolas quickly amended his reply with a hasty, “But we can make it six months if that is too long.”

Warmth filled Elrohir’s heart at this evidence of the archer’s desire not to foist any more distress on him. Looking fondly at him, he pressed a finger against his spouse’s lips to shush him.

“Take your year, beloved,” he murmured. “This is your chance to indulge the wanderlust you’ve repressed for so long. I will be there when you return.”

Legolas exhaled a tad shakily. “I was so sure you would not…” He pulled Elrohir close until their foreheads touched. “You continue to indulge me when ’tis I who should be making amends for my neglect of your needs.”

“You have made amends.”

“Not enough. Not yet.” 

Legolas raised his hands and cupped Elrohir’s face. His eyes conveyed such love and devotion, Elrohir felt quite breathless from the intensity of his gaze. 

“You are as air and water to me, Elrohir _nín_. I wonder that I managed to live so long without you at my side. Or mayhap all I did was exist these many years.” He pressed their mouths together briefly. “In truth, a year apart from you is all I can bear,” he whispered against Elrohir’s lips. “I pray you will not resent having to wait for me this one last time.”

Elrohir smiled. “You are mine now, as I am yours. My waiting will not feel as if in vain for I know you will come home to me.”

He pulled away and drew Legolas’ arm through his. They walked together into the city.

High above, the sun continued to shine upon the land, bringing light, comfort and warmth where once malice, fear and darkness had reigned.

***********************************  
Glossary:  
mithril - true-silver  
Elrohir nín – my Elrohir/my Elf-knight


	53. Ponder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrohir contemplates both past and future as he awaits his spouse’s return.

**Prompt: Waiting**

Elrohir patiently waited on the outskirts of Mirkwood. The sun was just beginning its ascent and though it was late summer, the morning breeze was bracing and brisk. 

The forest was quiet at this early hour. Birdsong and the sounds of animals making their way through the brush or among the treetops were still minimal. And the elven sentries were nowhere to be seen so well were they concealed. They might nurse much curiosity about his sudden visit to the kingdom when their prince was not in residence not to mention surprise at Thranduil’s strangely familial welcome, but they would not show him either. At least, not intentionally.

The Elf lord considered the year that had passed since he parted from Legolas at the edge of Fangorn Forest during the trek home from Gondor. 

It had been difficult being separated for so long but he’d wanted his love to indulge his wanderlust possibly for the last time. They had decided to establish an elven colony in fair Ithilien, the garden of Gondor. When they settled down in the southern province, neither of them would travel far afield again save when it came time to journey to Valinor. 

As it was, Legolas would probably sail once Aragorn joined his fathers, the call of the sea grown so strong only his vow to serve the king until the latter passed away kept him anchored to these hither shores. But Elladan and Elrohir had made another vow to their sister that come what may they would see her firstborn Aragorn’s successor through the initial days of his reign before crossing over sea. 

It would be Legolas’ turn to wait for him. His mate had offered to stay on with him until he and Elladan were ready to depart. But Elrohir had seen the need in his eyes to sail for Eldamar. He would not have his beloved suffer that constant pull on his very soul, a pull so fierce that had Legolas been a mere mortal, he might have been driven to madness. 

Elrohir was more fortunate. The dual nature of the Half-elven was both curse and blessing, and with regards the call of the sea, it was more blessing than curse. Once triggered, the desire for Elvenhome was nigh inexorable, but the Half-elven managed to control it as no pureblooded Elf could. And in any case, there would come the day when he would finally answer the call. Not so his sister, he somberly thought. 

Arwen would also always hear the call. Though she had chosen to join her fate to Aragorn’s, her choice had not changed what was elven in her save for her life span and her eventual passing to wherever the souls of Men resided. She would always be Peredhil and therefore yearn for the home of her people. But she would never be able to assuage that yearning. 

The uttermost west was now forbidden to her. Only her Half-elven blood would spare her the slow descent into insanity. But it would not be able to stave off the constant longing for the white shores of Valinor. Hers was one of the greatest sacrifices in this age of the world.

Recognizing the melancholic turn his musings had taken, Elrohir tried to brush them aside. 

Just then, the sentry captain hailed him from above where he was perched on an overhanging tree limb. Elrohir looked up in time to espy a fair-haired Elf astride his horse approaching him at a gallop. Behind him, a Dwarf hung on for dear life, the movement of his lips telling Elrohir he was either begging Legolas to slow down or muttering imprecations. 

Unmindful of the watching Elves hidden among the trees and brushes, Legolas dismounted even before his horse came to a complete stop leaving Gimli to grab at the beast’s mane to keep himself from unceremoniously toppling off. The prince pulled Elrohir from his mount into his arms. 

They embraced tightly, Legolas murmuring, “I have missed you so, my Elf-knight.”

Elrohir smiled and returned the kiss Legolas hungrily pressed upon him. It seemed he was not the only one who’d borne a lover’s impatient wait.

He heard Gimli loudly clear his throat followed by several sharp gasps and muffled oaths from behind. Legolas broke their kiss but did not release him from his embrace. Instead he glared at the sentries emerging from the forest. Their eyes and gapes betrayed varying degrees of surprise and dismay save for the captain who apparently had suspected something was afoot judging from his muted reaction.

The proverbial cat was out of the figurative bag. Though they did not wear their binding rings in public, it was clear as day. There could be no explaining away the loving fervor with which they had greeted each other. No unseeing the unmistakable light of espoused souls in their eyes. No denying that Mirkwood’s prince had given his heart and forged a bond outside of his father’s realm. 

The news would reach the kingdom before they did. The Elf construed and sometimes denigrated as a royal paramour was in truth a prince of Mirkwood by wedlock. Legolas’ true mate in this world and beyond.

The captain laid a stern gaze on the sentries as he stepped forward to bid Legolas welcome. 

“School your faces,” he scolded them. “It is not meet to impose your sour countenances on His Highness.” After a heartbeat, he dipped his head respectfully to Elrohir and added, “Their Highnesses.”

*********************************************  
Glossary:  
Peredhil - Half-elven  
meet - proper _(archaic)_


End file.
